


Relativity

by ItsJustALittleRain (MortalCyn)



Series: It Started Out With A Kiss [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hints of Power Dynamics, Internal Conflict, M/M, Makeup Sex, Men of Letters Bunker, Not Canon Compliant, Saving People Hunting Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalCyn/pseuds/ItsJustALittleRain
Summary: When his romantic involvement with Castiel earns him unwelcome attention while on a case, Dean is forced to confront the changing nature of their relationship and what that means for him as a hunter. Some time apart may or may not be the answer.





	1. A Difference of Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Eight story in the It Started Out With A Kiss series, depicting the formation and progression of a relationship between Dean and Castiel. Takes place a couple months after the events of Up For It. I also think it makes enough sense to be understood as a stand-alone, even if you haven't read any of the other stories yet.
> 
> Still don't have a beta reader, so please forgive me if you see a typo. Once again, any and all feedback, whether reviews or kudos, is greatly appreciated!!!

Dean glanced across the room at Sam and gave the silent signal to split up. Sam nodded, keeping his gun below the waist as he maneuvered around the darkened dining room, relying solely on the moonlight spilling in through the windows. 

Some cases were easier than others. This one had been pretty simple to crack, tracking down a demon on a cross-country murdering spree, but what was initially supposed to be a simple catch and kill was now more along the lines of a high-stakes game of tag.

Dean cast another look towards the front door. They had already sealed the only other way out with a devil’s trap. There was no way the demon they were hunting was going to sneak past. If he wanted out, he’d have to go through him.

Their demon went by many names and faces, which had helped it to elude detection up until this point. But its most recent visage had been captured on camera, shoving a woman and child into the trunk of its car. “Gotta love technology,” Dean had told Sam as they viewed the surveillance footage on the laptop in their motel room.

While the cops were busy chasing the wrong leads and treating this like a ransom situation, Sam and Dean had managed to track the demon back to its temporary residence, a two-story single family home which had belonged to the owner of the current meatsuit, a burly man who could’ve just as easily been a football player rather than a kidnapper and murderer.

Dean kept his hand on his gun as he crept along, keeping his back to the wall to prevent a sneak attack. As he passed the coffee table, he noted a spread of photographs. His stomach turned when he realized what he was looking at. _Sick son of a bitch took trophies._ He tried not to stare, but it was impossible to look away from. So many victims. Not for the first time, he wished Chuck would’ve given Cas his blessing to wipe out hell and all of its demons. As long as things went on this way, innocent people would continue to get hurt.

The sound of a creaking floorboard interrupted his thoughts. Dean ducked out of the way just in time to avoid a fist. He spun around, firing six shots in quick succession. Bullets wouldn’t kill a demon, but the devil’s trap carved on the end would keep it from smoking out. If the bastard wanted to escape, he’d have to do it by foot.

Sam burst into the living room, rope in hand. He managed to get two loops around the demon’s torso before he was thrown backwards. 

Dean had already reloaded and was taking aim again when he felt a breeze rustling through the air in the tightly closed house. “Are you serious?!” _Not again!_ “Cas, for the love of God…”

The demon turned to look at the newly arrived Castiel and immediately sprinted towards the front door. Too late, he was snatched back by his shirt collar and shoved bodily through another closed wooden door at the far end of the room.

Sam and Dean scrambled to catch up, just in time to see the demon tumbling down a flight of stairs into the home’s apparent basement, his body hitting the concrete floor with a satisfying thud. They looked over at Cas, Sam with surprise and Dean with an expression of pure exasperation.

“You seemed as though you could use some assistance,” Castiel explained, taking note of their differing responses to his arrival.

Dean opened his mouth, then changed his mind. What he needed to say to Cas could wait until this was taken care of. “Let’s just get this guy tied up while he’s still dazed.” He went down the stairs, Sam following with the duffle bag. 

 

A few minutes later, Sam stepped back from the devil’s trap he had spray painted in the center of the floor and nodded. “Alright.” They all looked at their guest, now secured to a chair with heavy ropes, glaring back at each of them in turn, although his glowers towards Cas seemed especially pointed.

Castiel glared right back, so much so that Dean decided things might go a hell of a lot smoother if he removed his friend from the equation.

“Cas, can I talk to you for a minute over there?” Dean asked, beckoning for Castiel to follow him to the other side of the basement. He stopped beside the staircase and cleared his throat. “I think you should take off.” He clapped Cas on the back. “Thanks for the assist, but we’ve got it from here.”

Castiel looked less than impressed.

“Don’t give me that look,” Dean said, offended. “I said thanks. But the point is, Sammy and I have got work to do, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d make yourself scarce so I can concentrate.”

“Really Dean?” Sam asked, giving his brother a sideways glance. He shook his head and continued laying out the supplies on an old ping-pong table.

“Hey don’t blame me,” Dean argued. He gestured towards Castiel. “He’s the one making it hard for me to concentrate. Blame him.”

“I am literally just standing here,” Castiel sighed.

“Standing there looking like a snack,” Dean said. “Have you no shame?”

Castiel’s brows furrowed, trying to make sense of Dean’s words.

Sam scoffed and began filling a jug with holy water. “You two want to get some air? Let me handle the guest of honor for a while?”

“No need,” Dean replied, putting his hand up. “Because Cas was just leaving, weren’t you Cas?”

Castiel gave Dean a look to clearly express his displeasure and then turned and walked upstairs.

Sam shook his head.

“Shut up,” Dean ordered. “We don’t have time for this and you know it. Let’s just take care of this asshole so we can save the woman and her kid.” They walked back over to the center of the room where the demon waited, Sam carrying the water jug as they approached.

The demon glared back at them through black eyes, his jaw clenched as he flexed against the ropes that bound him to the chair.

Dean pulled up a folding chair of his own and turned it around backwards, settling it just outside the devil’s trap. “Those ropes are soaked in holy water, so you might as well get comfortable.” He sat down and leaned forward, crossing his arms atop the back of the chair. “Now, you’re gonna tell us where you stashed them.”

“Stashed who?”

“The woman and her son,” Sam replied, walking up beside Dean. “We know they’re still alive.”

The demon snickered. “Oh, you mean the bitch and her brat. I’d love to tell you where I put them, just do me a quick favor first and kiss my ass. I’ve got an itch.”

“Hear that Sam,” Dean said coolly. “Says he’s got an itch.”

“Sounds like he could use a bath,” Sam replied, his tone agreeable as if they were discussing the weather. He lifted up the jug of holy water.

The demon roared in pain as Sam poured half the jug over his head, smoke billowing off his burning skin while he thrashed against the ropes.

“Don’t worry,” Dean yelled over the screams. “We won’t run out, there’s more in the cooler.” He nodded towards the table where they had laid out the supplies in case things got ugly. “We got plenty enough to get you squeaky clean.” He watched as Sam stepped back, setting the jug back down on the ground. “Still got that itch?”

The demon glared at Dean and remained silent.

Dean let out a whistle and shook his head. “You know we can make you talk. Hell, we can make you sing. This’ll go a whole lot easier for you if you just tell us what we want to know.”

“What, you’ll let me go?” the demon asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“You must be joking,” Sam answered. He bristled, clenching his fists. “We saw those pictures. All those people you killed.” He forced himself to calm down, trying not to focus on the innocent lives already lost, but on the ones that could still be potentially saved. “You’re never leaving this room again, but we can make it quick. Otherwise…” He glanced at his brother.

“Otherwise the so-called Righteous Man is going to carve me up like thanksgiving dinner?” the demon asked. He rolled his eyes and spat onto the floor. “Please. Go ahead. By all means. Although I don’t think your boyfriend would be happy to see that.”

Dean made a face. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that pain in the ass archangel who has been shadowing you since you got here,” the demon replied.

“Oh, don’t you worry about him. He’s gone,” Dean said. “We’re your only playmates now.”

The demon gave him a blank stare. “You’re even stupider than you look.”

Dean rolled his eyes and stood up. _Son of a bitch. I told him to leave._ “I’ll be right back,” he told Sam. He started towards the stairs, heading back to the upper level of the house.

Sam nodded and picked up the jug of holy water again. He turned back to the demon. “Ready for some more?”

Dean could hear the demon’s shouts of pain as he crossed the living room, trying not to let himself get pissed off. _I swear, it’s like talking to a wall sometimes._ “Cas,” he called. “The jig is up. I know you’re here. Show yourself.”

Castiel walked out of the kitchen. “I was not exactly hiding, Dean.”

“No, you were hanging around after I expressly told you to **_leave_** ,” Dean replied. “Cas, we’ve been through this. I don’t need you hovering over me like I’m some damsel in distress. This is the third time in six weeks you’ve shown up while I’m working a case, and I’m honestly getting kind of tired of having this conversation.” He shook his head. “I’m still a little pissed at you for interfering on the last one.”

“You genuinely would’ve preferred that I stood idly by while the spirit of Benjamin McCallahan bludgeoned you and your brother to death with a piece of lumber?” Castiel asked, eyebrow raised. “Dean, you never would’ve known to burn the forklift.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean argued. Getting their asses kicked by the vengeful spirit of a murdered warehouse worker hadn’t exactly been the highlight of his day, but it still didn’t feel as bad as being saved like some heroine in a bad cable movie. “You didn’t really give us a chance before you took matters into your own hands.”

“How would either of you have ever been able to detect the traces of human remains within the machinery?” Castiel asked, mystified at Dean’s ire and lack of appreciation. “Your senses of smell are not nearly acute enough—”

“And that’s another thing,” Dean interrupted. “Me and Sam may only be human, but we’ve taken down some pretty big game, yourself included.” He considered. “Actually, credit for that one goes to the Leviathans, but…” He noticed the extreme look of irritation he was receiving and decided to change the subject. “Listen Cas, I get that you’re souped up now and with things settled down upstairs, you’re probably itching to flex your wings from time to time—”

“That is not what this is about,” Castiel argued, bristling. “Dean, I can help—”

“Me and Sam have been doing this gig since we were kids,” Dean interrupted, also bristling. He was starting to feel as though he were constantly repeating himself and getting nowhere. “We can handle this. We really don’t need your help.”

“But Dean—”

“No buts,” Dean cut in. “I mean this in the nicest possible way. Get lost.”

Castiel shot Dean a look.

“I’m serious,” Dean said, refusing to be intimidated. “Look, we’ll talk about this later. I’ll see you back at the bunker, alright? Now beat it.” Rather than waiting for a response which would likely only result in more protests, he turned and strode from the room, heading back downstairs into the basement. 

As he walked into the center of the room, Dean was more than just a little irked to see that their soaked guest was now staring at him while grinning from ear to ear. “And what the hell are you smiling at, huh? Finally made your peace with getting sent back to hell?” He glanced over at Sam, refilling the jug.

“So it’s true,” the demon said, his lips curled. “You two are fucking. Oh man, Crowley is gonna be so pissed when he finds out.” He threw back his head and laughed. “I think he still dreams of getting a piece of that sweet ass for himself. Apparently demon Dean Winchester was quite the tease. All talk and no action. Seems like that’s changed.” He gave Dean a look-over. “I can tell from the way you walk that you’ve seen plenty of action.”

Dean bristled. “Shut your hole.”

“What is that like anyway?” the demon asked. “Getting touched by an angel? Do the clouds part open? Do you hear a choir singing? Does he cleanse your sins with his holy light—”

“Shut up,” Dean ordered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think I do. Tell me, does he make you get down on your knees first? Do you pray—”

Dean could feel the anger burning inside him, already present since his argument with Cas, it was steadily growing, being fed by the taunts and barbs he was taking now. “Alright, I’ve had enough of your crap.” He stepped into the devil’s trap, drawing the demon-killing knife out from inside his jacket, and lifted it so that the demon could see the runes on the blade gleaming in the light. “Now, either you tell me where you stashed them, or I’m going to start chopping things off.”

“Okay!” the demon said, flinching back in his chair. “I’ll tell you where I hid them. Just come a little closer.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and shot Sam a look. His brother was alert to any tricks, so whatever this demon had in mind wasn’t going to get him very far. He stepped in closer. “Alright, tell me.”

The demon leaned forward, straining against the ropes. “I can smell his cock on your breath.”

Dean blinked. Then he slugged the demon squarely in the jaw, the force of the blow knocking the chair to the ground. He felt the searing pain coursing through his knuckles and immediately knew his hand was broken. “Fuck!” He kicked the back of the chair and turned around, cradling his aching fist in his good hand. 

Castiel was at his side in an instant, reaching for his broken hand.

Dean snatched his hand back. “I thought I told you to beat it!”

“The bones in your hand are shattered,” Castiel said, his tone letting Dean know that this was not up for debate.

Dean clenched his jaw and huffed out a breath. _Son of a bitch…_ He turned his head away and extended his arm. He didn’t flinch as he felt the warmth washing over him, healing the broken bones and reversing the bruising. “Thanks,” he muttered, pulling his hand out of Cas’ grip as soon as it was safe to do so. “Now go.”

Castiel glanced at the demon, lying where it had fallen, chair and all.

“Cas,” Dean said, exasperated. “GO.” He let out a huff when the angel finally disappeared, the sound of flapping wings confirming his exit. _For fuck’s sake._ He caught Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye and turned to face him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam said. “Let’s get back to work. Help me lift him up.”

They both walked around to where the demon lay on his side, still bound to the chair. Too late did Sam notice that there was a large mouthful of blood obscuring a portion of the devil’s trap, blurring its edges. “Dean! The trap!”

The demon was instantly on his feet, snapping the ropes that bound him as easily as rubber bands. He hurled the chair at Dean, knocking the knife out of his hand. The blade skittered across the floor, lodging itself beneath an old tool cabinet.

 _Oh crap,_ Dean thought just before he was tackled to the floor and pummeled. He raised his arms, trying to cover his head from the blows raining down upon him. “Sam!”

“Cute trick with the bullets,” the demon snarled. “Trapping me in this body. Gives me all the more reason to cave your skull in.”

Sam grabbed hold of the demon and tried to haul him off of his brother, only to receive an elbow in the ribs. The next thing he felt was a solid blow across the chin, which sent him sprawling to the floor on his back, his vision blurring. 

The demon turned back to Dean, wrapping both hands around his throat. “Now where were we? You want to know where I put that bitch and her kid? Well, you’re gonna be seeing them real soon.”

Dean twisted, trying unsuccessfully to throw the demon off.

“Or maybe I’ll stash you with one of the others. There are just so many to pick from,” the demon said, clearly bursting with glee. “Tell you the truth, even I don’t remember where I put them all. But I can tell you this much…” He leaned forward, placing more weight on Dean’s windpipe. “They’ll never be found.”

Sam shook his head, trying to steady his vision.

“And neither…

Sam scrambled towards the tool cabinet, unsteady on his feet. He dove to the ground, reaching back as far as he could.

“Will…

Sam’s fingers closed around the handle of the blade.

“You.”

Dean could feel himself starting to pass out. _Sammy, you’d better be getting that damn knife or we are both screwed._

Sam whipped around, blade in hand. He was stunned to see Castiel standing directly behind the demon, the expression on his face icier than Sam had ever seen.

The demon paused, sensing that the temperature of the room had drastically changed.

Castiel snapped his fingers. The demon disintegrated in a puff of black smoke, leaving a smattering of soot scattered on Dean’s clothes and upon the floor.

Dean sat up, drawing air back into his burning lungs. He struggled to stave off the coughing fit, before doubling over and coughing until Castiel stepped closer, concern on his brow. Dean raised a hand, wordlessly telling him to back off.

Sam got to his feet, putting the knife safely inside his jacket. “Thanks Cas,” he said. “I guess you beat me to it.”

“I could sense Dean’s consciousness was fading,” Castiel replied, turning to Sam. “I thought it best that I return at once.”

“Well I’m glad you did,” Sam agreed.

“I’m not,” Dean croaked out. He climbed to his feet, again waving Cas away when he approached to help him. “I told you we had it. Sam was about a second away from ganking that demon.”

Sam considered arguing that it would’ve been a few seconds at least, but decided against it.

“And now you’re killing people with a snap of your fingers?” Dean continued. “What the hell, Cas?!”

“I…” Castiel looked genuinely uncomfortable. “I must’ve picked it up from observing Lucifer.”

“Now there’s a role model,” Dean grumbled, shaking his head. “To make matters worse, we weren’t supposed to kill that guy yet! We still needed to find the location of the people he kidnapped!”

“Oh,” Castiel said, taken aback. “I didn’t know.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course you didn’t. Because you didn’t think, you didn’t ask questions, you just showed up and saved me. Once again, when I did not need saving. Unbelievable!”

“Guys,” Sam cut in, before this disagreement could turn into a full-blown fight. “This isn’t the time. Somewhere in this town are a woman and her kid, and they are terrified. They might not have much longer, and we have to find them.”

“Don’t look at me,” Dean said, putting his hand up. “Cas just Thanosed our only lead.”

Sam sighed and shook his head.

Castiel began to pace the room, his expression pensive. He crossed the floor, seemingly following a path that was invisible to Sam & Dean. They both watched as he stopped near the smudged devil’s trap and knelt down. Castiel brushed his finger along the spattered blood that the demon had used to break the seal, then he closed his eyes for several moments.

“What is he doing?” Sam whispered.

“Hell if I know,” Dean whispered back. He approached slowly, curious in spite of himself. “Everything alright there Cas? You’re not going full Dr. Strange on us, are you?”

“Dude,” Sam said, giving his brother a sideways glance. “You have got to stop watching that movie.”

Castiel rose to his feet and turned around. “I was able to trace the last steps of the demon through his blood. Based on the chemical signals present, he most recently visited a mortuary.”

“A mortuary?” Sam asked, brows raised. “You mean, like a funeral home?”

“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “Specifically the crematorium.”

Sam and Dean both blanched. “Well that’s depressing,” Dean said. He glared at the scattering of black dust that had once been a demon. “Son of a bitch knew they were dead all along. He played us.”

Castiel shook his head. “Not necessarily.” He studied the smudge of blood again. “There was no trace of fresh remains. Only ones that have been long since incinerated. If the mother and child were taken recently, they may very well still be alive, provided they have not suffocated.”

“Then there’s no time to waste,” Sam said. “Cas, do you think you can find the funeral home?”

 

The car had barely come to a complete stop before they were all out and sprinting up the weed-infested gravel walkway towards the dilapidated funeral home. Sam broke the grimy ivy-covered window beside the door with an elbow, and reached through to unlock it. The air of the parlor was stifling as though it hadn’t been opened in years, the floor thick with dust. Their hearts were racing as they flew down the stairs towards the crematorium, ears straining to hear any sound that indicated life, no matter how faint. The concrete floor was covered with a variety of fresh prints, some large and others heartbreakingly small.

“Oh no,” Dean said when his eyes landed on the wrought iron door that sealed the furnace. It looked heavier than his car. “Cas!”

Immediately Cas was there, turning the door handle as though it weighed less than nothing. Sam and Dean watched as he pulled it back, the hinges screeching in protest. And then they heard coughing and were able to finally let go of the breath they didn’t even realize they had been holding. 

Dean shined his flashlight into the narrow tunnel and saw two pairs of eyes blinking back at him. “You’re safe,” he said, his pulse finally beginning to return to normal. “The person that did this to you is gone.”

“Wasn’t a person,” the woman coughed. She rubbed at her eyes. “He was a monster.”

“A monster,” the little boy agreed, his voice tiny and hoarse. His face was streaked with tears as Dean helped them out of the furnace. 

“We’re going to take you home,” Sam assured them, steadying the woman on her feet. “Are you good to walk?”

She nodded and then picked up her son, pressing her face to the top of his head. “I thought we weren’t going to make it.” Now they could see the streaks of tears on her face as well.

“Well, we’re just glad that we found you,” Sam replied, patting her on the shoulder. 

“Come on,” Dean said. “Let’s get you home.” He glanced at Castiel. “I’ll see you at the bunker.” Without waiting for a response, he followed Sam and the others.

 

Sam tossed his burger wrapper into the trash and looked over at his brother. Dean had only barely eaten his food, with the exception of the apple pie, and his mind was clearly elsewhere. By all means they should’ve been celebrating, having saved the last two victims and ended the demon’s killing spree, but there had been a cloud hanging over Dean’s mood throughout the entirety of the drive.

Sam guessed he knew what was bothering Dean, and knowing his brother he debated whether it was even worth saying anything.

As if reading Sam’s mind, Dean tossed the rest of his half-eaten food into the trash and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, surprised.

“To pour myself a drink,” Dean replied. He glanced back at Sam, daring him to say something. “I think I’ve earned it, if that’s alright with you.”

Sam considered letting it end there. Clearly Dean was not interested in having a heart to heart. He was far too preoccupied with waiting for Cas so that he could air the grievances that he’d been nursing for the better part of two days now. Still, Sam felt that he should at least try. Maybe if he could soften Dean’s stance on things a bit, then once Cas did get back, the conversation might not get out of hand. 

“Dean,” Sam said finally.

Dean stopped and turned to look at his brother.

“Take it easy on Cas, alright? He really helped us out the other day—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dean cut in, shaking his head. “Sam, Cas doesn’t need you taking up for him. He’s a grown ass man. He makes his own choices and he can deal with the consequences.”

“Consequences?” Sam asked, brows raised. “What are you going to do? Take away his television privileges? Ground him?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, would you? I’m already pissed enough without you butting in.” He turned to go.

“Why are you pissed?” Sam asked. “Like I said, Cas helped us. He took care of that demon and he helped us find the victims. So what is there to be angry about?”

“Because he never would’ve had to if he had just left in the first place!” Dean snapped, whipping around. “The only reason that demon caught us off guard is because of Cas. If he had just left the first time I told him to instead of sticking around, I wouldn’t have gotten distracted—”

“You mean by what the demon said?” Sam asked drily. “About you and Cas.”

Dean glowered. 

“Dean, so you got riled up and made a mistake,” Sam said. He shrugged. “It happens. I’ve done it. You’ve done it. Hell, so did Bobby, so has Garth and even Jody and Donna.”

“Yeah, and Bobby’s dead,” Dean countered. “Garth is a friggin werewolf, and as for Jody and Donna, there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t wake up fearing for their lives.” He sighed. “Sam, in our line of work a mistake isn’t as simple as giving someone paper when they asked for plastic. Mistakes can get us killed. Hell, they have gotten us killed.” He shook his head. “I’m just trying to keep that from happening again.”

Sam stared at his brother for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “If that is what this is really about, then okay. I get it.”

Dean bristled. “What do you mean, if that is what this is really about?” He crossed his arms. “What the hell else would it be about?”

“I saw the look on your face before you punched that demon,” Sam sighed. He knew he was playing with fire, but it was too late to turn back now. “It wasn’t distraction. It wasn’t even really anger. It was shame. You were embarrassed and it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“You don’t know what you saw,” Dean replied, his expression stony. 

“Maybe,” Sam agreed. “Or maybe not. My point is, I think you’re upset for the wrong reason, and I think you should take some time and think it over before you say whatever it is you plan on saying to Cas.” He shrugged. “Just a suggestion. I know that it’s none of my business—”

“Well, that’s the first correct thing you’ve said since we got back,” Dean cut in. “It isn’t any of your goddamn business, so once again, butt out. I don’t want to have to say it again.”

Sam threw his hands up. “Fine. Whatever. Forget I said anything.” He turned and headed off towards his own room.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Go ahead and mess up the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Dean clenched his jaw and ignored the last remark. He listened to his brother’s footsteps fading down the hall before pulling out his chair and settling down. He ran a hand through his hair and waited for Cas, not having the slightest idea of what he was going to say.

 

By the time Castiel arrived, Dean was already halfway through the bottle of scotch. He glanced up as Cas approached, his pulse instinctively quickening even though he was slightly buzzed. That only served to irk him more, the fact that he couldn’t even look at Cas now without his mind automatically reminding him of the way he felt in his arms.

Castiel was perplexed by the strange mixture of signals that Dean was putting out. He could usually read the hunter fairly well, but at this moment he was receiving conflicting messages. He could sense Dean’s physical interest in him, an interest that was now ever-present and generally much appreciated. Yet he could also sense anger, which while not entirely unfamiliar was never welcome. More puzzling still, he could sense shame, and that filled Castiel with apprehension because he had not sensed that from Dean in many years. 

“Cas,” Dean sighed, the word heavy even to his own ears.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel replied, not missing the dismal tone. He glanced towards the half-empty bottle. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Yes,” Dean agreed. “But I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It isn’t,” Castiel replied. He took the seat across from Dean.

Dean gazed across the table at Cas. He still hadn’t worked out exactly what he wanted to say, or what he needed him to understand. He suddenly wished that he had actually listened to Sam a little while ago. He glanced away from Cas and refilled his glass, before taking a long swallow.

Castiel sighed. The longer they went without speaking, the more confusing the signals became. It was as though he could sense a knot of emotions forming within Dean, growing increasingly tangled and turning in on themselves. He had spent enough time in the company of the Winchesters to know when a conflict was inevitable. It was best to approach it directly, then perhaps they could put it behind them. 

“Dean,” Castiel said.

Dean gave no indication that he heard, other than setting his glass calmly down.

“Dean, I am sorry about yesterday,” Castiel continued. “I understand that you are upset with me for not leaving when you asked me to—”

“Three times,” Dean cut in, still not looking at Cas. He held up three fingers. “I told you three times to back off, that I had it. You didn’t listen to me once.”

“But you didn’t have it,” Castiel reasoned. “You broke your hand, the demon escaped from the devil’s trap, you were nearly killed and if I hadn’t returned then you never would’ve known where to look for the mother and her child—”

“You don’t know that!” Dean snapped, slapping his palm down onto the table. He finally turned to face Cas. “We would’ve figured something out! We would’ve found them.”

“ ** _You_** don’t know that,” Castiel protested. He shook his head. “Dean, I just don’t understand. What is so wrong about my helping you? I have assisted you and Sam on many occasions in the past.”

“Well that was before,” Dean started. He paused, trying to decide if this was really the path he wanted to take. 

“Before we became involved in the physical sense,” Castiel finished. He leaned his head to the side and gave Dean a scrutinizing stare. “That is what you were going to say, correct?”

Dean considered denying it, then shrugged. “Maybe.” He lifted his glass.

Castiel studied Dean a long moment before responding. “Dean, if this is about what that demon said—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean cut in.

“Dean—”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!” Dean snapped. He glared at Cas. “Jesus Christ Cas, it’s like you’re incapable of listening. How many times do I have to tell you not to do something?!”

Castiel bristled, remembering all the times he had been referred to as Dean’s pet. “Dean, I understand that you are upset, but I do not care for your tone right now.”

“And I don’t care for what you’re doing right now,” Dean shot back. He shook his head. “As a matter of fact… This was a mistake. I think you should just go, because this right here ain’t working.”

“What isn’t?”

Dean took a deep breath. “Us. Being together, working together. I just…”

Castiel was silent for a long moment, waiting to see if Dean would finish his thoughts. When the words were not forthcoming, he decided to ask the one question that he dreaded above all others. “Are you saying that you wish to end our romantic attachment to one another?”

Dean nearly scoffed. _Romantic? What the hell is so damn romantic about this? Then again…_ The lazy mornings in bed, bodies entwined, contentment making his limbs too heavy to move. By his standards that was pretty damn romantic.

Castiel blinked, once again puzzled by the conflicting signals Dean was sending him.

Dean groaned inwardly. This was no time to get distracted. “I didn’t say that,” he said finally. He shook his head. “Cas, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just need some time to get my head wrapped around what this is going to mean… For me as a hunter.”

“You just need time,” Castiel replied, his voice quiet yet amicable.

Dean hesitated. “And space. I need that too. At least for a while.” The second the words left his lips he regretted them. He could see the change come over Cas, as clear as if a switch had been flipped. All traces of familiarity seemed to leave him then, his aura becoming coolly impersonal, as it had been in the early days when they had hardly known one another.

Castiel rose to his feet. He looked at Dean for a moment and then turned to leave.

Dean watched him, his heart pounding. _That’s it?_ He hated to admit that he had expected Cas to give him a little more pushback. He honestly thought that the angel would fight for him, rather than just give in so easily. Now in addition to everything he was already feeling, he had to add a bruised ego. “You don’t have anything to say?”

Castiel gave Dean a sideways glance.

Dean found that he did not like that one bit. He was about a second away from telling Cas nevermind, he’d take it all back, he didn’t mean a single word of any of what he’d just said. He would blame it on the alcohol, even though half a bottle hadn’t been enough to get him drunk since he was a teenager. He was just venting, and had let things go a little too far. Everything would be fine.

“What is there to say?” Castiel asked, turning away from Dean. “You requested time and space. I am prepared to give you both. If for any reason you or Sam should need me, you both know where I’ll be.”

Dean opened his mouth just as Castiel vanished. The room felt somehow both larger and smaller now, the absence of his presence settling over it like a shroud.


	2. A Period of Adjustment

Sam could hear Dean’s footsteps coming down the hall towards the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on his computer screen and grimaced. It was nearly two in the afternoon. There was sleeping in and there was avoiding the world. Judging from Dean’s obviously less than well-rested face as he trudged into the kitchen, Sam guessed Dean was doing the latter. “Hey,” Sam said.

“Hey,” Dean muttered, heading straight for the coffee pot. He filled his cup, drank it down halfway and then filled it again. He could feel Sam’s well-intentioned gaze as he walked back over to the table and sat down. “Let’s just get it out in the open,” he started. “Yes, Cas and I had a fight. Yes, I should’ve listened to you and chosen my words a little more carefully. Yes, I’m fine, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.” He took a sip of coffee and glanced at his brother. “Okay?”

Sam blinked. “Okay.” It wasn’t exactly the greeting he’d been expecting, but Dean had said his piece without needing to be asked, so that had to count for something. “Actually—”

“Sam,” Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know,” Sam agreed. “I was going to ask if you wanted to work a case.”

Dean looked up from his coffee, surprised. “You found another case already?”

Dean didn’t need to know that Sam had spent almost the entire morning scouring the news, even going so far as to forgo his dawn run. Once he knew that peace talks with Cas hadn’t gone over well, Sam had a choice to make. He knew his brother well enough to know that they could do one of two things, sit around the bunker and mope, or get back out into the world and work off some of the frustration. Then maybe there could be a second attempt as hashing things out with Cas. One that might even be successful.

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “Kind of just fell into my lap actually.” Which was true. The case had seemed to jump right out at him once he started looking. He glanced up at Dean. “So what do you say? Feel like working?”

Dean sighed. “When do I ever feel like it? It’s the job, it doesn’t care how I feel.”

Sam cringed inwardly. _So far, not good._

“Forget what I just said,” Dean mumbled. He nodded towards the laptop. “Tell me what you got.”

“As far as I can tell,” Sam said, typing into his keyboard. “A shapeshifter.”

“Nice,” Dean remarked, his interest thoroughly piqued in spite of the circumstances. “Been a little while since we tangled with one of those. What gave it away this time?”

Sam turned his screen around so that Dean could see the news article. “One extremely unlucky person shows up in two places at the same time, shortly before being found brutally murdered in their own home. You know, the usual.”

“At least this one isn’t robbing banks and taking hostages,” Dean offered, his eyes scanning the news article. “Or starting a breeding program.” He returned his attention to his coffee.

“Yeah, still not sure that this is any better,” Sam said, turning his laptop back around. “So far it’s dropped at least seven bodies in one town alone.”

Dean was disgusted yet impressed. “Well damn.”

“It’s only about sixteen hours drive from here,” Sam continued, glancing at Dean. “What do you think?”

“I think it sounds like a case,” Dean sighed, returning Sam’s glance. “Relax Sam, you don’t have to sell it so hard. I’ll go, but not because I’ll drown in my own tears if I stay in the bunker, so get that pinched up mother hen look off your face and let’s get ready to hit the road.”

 _That’s more like it._ “Right,” Sam said, trying to resist the urge to dish it right back. “I’ll get my stuff.”

 

A sixteen hour drive later and a check-in at a motel that was sketchy even by their standards, and Dean was feeling a little more like himself. He had finally stopped mentally replaying his conversation with Cas, but the dull feeling in his chest had not faded away. Still, work helped. Keeping himself occupied was the best thing he could do right now and this case definitely delivered.

Dean had been working the fed angle for two days with the local police department, going over their case files and listening to their theories which were about as bullshit as he had expected. So far there weren’t any leads or even a place to start. Whatever the shapeshifter was after, it wasn’t leaving a pattern. The victims were all random with no apparent connections to one another, not even so much as a book club in common. They came from all walks of life, financial backgrounds, and neighborhoods. It was as though the killer were throwing darts at a phonebook.

Sam had gone to the morgue a few hours ago to see if there could be a pattern in the way the victims were killed. Maybe a murder weapon that could be traced back to a store and hopefully some security footage or a home address. It was a long shot, but so far it was all they had.

Dean waited in the motel room, listening to the sound of the rain on the roof and trying to jury-rig the coil heater into doing something more than emitting the barest hint of a glow. An unwelcome reminder of Cas entered his mind, the extreme warmth of sharing a bed with a celestial being. What he wouldn't give to feel about a tenth of that right now.

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself. It was a distraction, and the last thing he needed. What was the point in telling Cas to keep his distance if his mind was just going to conjure him up against his will? He was working, and a case as crazy as this one needed all of his attention. This was no time to dwell on his absent friend.

 _Friend._ Dean wasn’t entirely sure that word still applied when it came to Cas. Of course they were friends, aside from Sam, Dean had never felt closer to anyone in his life. He trusted Cas, even if he occasionally questioned his judgment, he knew that he could count on him if needed. Yet friend didn’t seem to cover it anymore. He didn’t know what term would best describe the place Cas now held in his life, or the depth of his feelings for him. He thought it might be worth looking into, once they had solved this case and things were back to normal.

Then again, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He had been the one to ask Cas for the break. Time to figure out how he was going to navigate in a world where every demon and inhuman freak was going to be giving him shit about being involved with Cas. And even though it was not as much of a concern, he still blanched when he considered the initial conversation with their friends and allies. _Jody, Garth, Donna… Claire._ He shuddered at the thought. He just needed a little more time.

Of course, that door swung both ways. What if time and space gave Cas the idea that maybe they were better off as friends? Maybe time and space would convince him that getting involved was a mistake, that ending it was for the best, and there would be no return to normal, or at least not the one that Dean had come to prefer as his new normal. He didn’t know what he would do if that turned out to be the case.

Further unsettling his mind, Dean had felt a definite coolness in Cas’ most recent departure. Dean knew the angel had an innate dislike of confrontation and complicated situations. With the responsibility of running Heaven, Cas certainly had enough on his plate to keep him busy without adding relationship drama to his life. This might be the final straw.

By the time he heard Sam’s key in the door, Dean had never been so relieved to see another living person. The way he felt right now, even if Sam brought news of another murder victim he would be glad just to have something to take his mind off Cas.

“So what’s the word?” Dean asked as Sam entered the motel room, hoping he didn’t sound too excited.

“It’s raining like crazy for one thing,” Sam started, closing the door. “And it turns out I was wrong about the number of shapeshifter victims. According to the morgue records, there have been at least fifteen confirmed kills.” He tossed the soaked newspaper he’d been using as a makeshift umbrella into the trashcan.

“Holy shit,” Dean said. “This thing has been busy. Why the high body count?”

Sam shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s a monster, Dean. They’re not exactly known to be rational.”

“Still, that’s a lot of people murdered for no apparent reason,” Dean mused. “You’d think another hunter would’ve taken care of it by now, the way this thing is kicking up noise.” He shrugged. “Or at least that local PD would’ve gotten lucky and shot it by mistake.”

“Well, it’s obviously pretty good at covering its tracks,” Sam reasoned. “I mean, I didn’t even know how many victims there were until a few hours ago. Maybe we’re just the first hunters to put the pieces together.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Dean said, shaking his head. He glanced out the window. “You know, if I could turn into anyone in the world, I’d pick a billionaire, lock his ass in a basement somewhere, and spend the rest of my life on a yacht drinking champagne off the stomach of a supermodel.”

Sam snorted. “I’m pretty sure Cas would have something to say about that,” he replied without thinking.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Dean muttered. He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out at the rain-soaked parking lot. “I never know what the hell Cas is thinking half the time.”

Sam hesitated. Although he hadn’t exactly been waiting for his brother to mention Cas, he had noticed his difficulty sleeping the past few nights. Even with his assurance that his mind was on the case, Sam had guessed it would only be a matter of time before Dean realized this wasn’t something he could run from. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, sitting down at the desk.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, when the hell have I ever wanted to talk about it?”

Sam nodded, backing down. “Fair enough.” He was plugging in his computer to charge when he heard Dean sigh.

“When I said I needed space, I didn’t mean for him to fall off the face of the earth.”

“If you want to see him, then call him,” Sam reasoned. “I’m sure he’ll answer. I can give you two some room to hash it out. I’ll take my laptop to the library for a bit. It’s not a problem.”

“I never said that I wanted to see him,” Dean replied, his tone defensive. “Besides, we’re in the middle of a case. What happens if he does show up and then I get distracted and damn near get my ass killed again? Or your overgrown ass for that matter? You really want to risk that?” He shook his head. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Sam was done. He turned fully around in his chair, having grown tired of this charade. “Okay, you seriously need to cut the crap. That is not what this is about and you know it. Dean, who cares what some asshole demon has to say? Are you really going to punish Cas because you felt embarrassed? Does that even make sense to you?”

“I’m not punishing him,” Dean argued. “I’m just trying to work… and I’m trying to wrap my mind around what this means.”

“It means that you’re not alone anymore,” Sam sighed. “It means that you finally have someone who gets it, all the crap we go through, and they’re not running scared. They actually want to be in it with you. Cas wants to be in it with you. I just think you should let him.” He turned back to his screen. “And I know, none of my business.”

Dean stood there a few more minutes, listening to the typing of Sam’s fingers on the keyboard and letting his brother’s words sink in. Maybe Sam was right, he had possibly been playing up the Cas is a distraction argument a little more than he actually believed. But that was easier than admitting that he might not be as secure in his role with Cas as he had previously thought. That was a can of worms he had no intention of opening, least of all while right smack in the middle of a hunt. _This is all kinds of messed up._ “I’m gonna go outside for a bit,” he said, grabbing his coat. “Get some fresh air.”

Sam gave his brother a strange look. “In the middle of a rainstorm?” He paused, realization sinking in. “Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be here.”

Dean stepped out into the night and pulled the motel door closed behind him. It was pouring, the rain running down off the overhead awning that wrapped around the motel. He leaned against the side of the building and closed his eyes. The smell was faint, but it was there. Damp soil, fresh air and water. He heard the crack of thunder and opened his eyes just in time to see a bolt of lightning illuminate the night sky.

“Excuse me, do you have a light?”

Dean turned. _Damn._ His eyebrows shot up as he looked over the beautiful woman standing a few feet away from him on the sidewalk. Her long dark hair fell down past her shoulders as she smiled at him, her blue eyes shy. _Figure’s not half bad either,_ he mused.

“Well?” she asked, blushing slightly.

Dean reflexively patted his pockets, and then remembered that his lighter and keys were both back in the motel room. “Sorry sweetheart,” he said. “I don’t smoke.” He put his hands up. “No judgment.”

“Thanks anyway,” she said, still smiling. She glanced upward at the clouds. “Some storm huh? I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d go out for a cigarette.” She turned her eyes back to Dean. “What about you?”

Dean sighed. “I’m a sucker for the smell of rain.” He glanced upward at the sky. _Is Cas doing this? Can he even do things like this?_ He realized that he had never once asked Cas what all he was capable of now.

“So,” the woman said. “You want to head over to my room? Since I didn’t get my cigarette, I could use the company.”

“I don’t even see a cigarette,” Dean replied, raising his eyebrow.

She laughed. “Okay, you got me. I looked out my window to check on the storm and I saw you. I thought that you were attractive, and you looked kind of lonely, so I figured I’d try my luck.”

“You a hooker?” Dean asked bluntly.

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Excuse me?!”

 _Oops. That’s not the reaction of a hooker._ “Sorry,” Dean amended. “Occupational hazard.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

“Okay,” she said, still eying him balefully. “But you didn’t have to call me a hooker. It’s 2019, you know. Women are allowed to enjoy sex just as much as men.”

Dean groaned. “Yeah, I know. Again, sorry. I hope you have a good night.”

She shot him one last glare as she turned and walked away.

Dean watched her go around the corner. _Well, I definitely misjudged that._ He took one last look at the sky and turned to go back into the room when a shrill scream rang out. _What the hell?!_

The woman came running back around the corner, her eyes wild. “Oh my god!”

“What?” Dean asked, automatically on the defense. “What did you see?”

“I don’t know!” she said, gagging. “It looked like…” She swallowed hard, her eyes watering. “Like a pile of bloody meat, like skin and flesh.” 

“Alright,” Dean said. “Where was it?”

She pointed, her hand shaking. “Right around the corner. Beside the soda machine.”

“Okay,” Dean replied, pulling his silver-tipped knife from the sheath. “You get back to your room and lock the door. Don’t let anybody in, you understand?”

She nodded and took off running in the opposite direction.

Dean moved in the direction that she had pointed, his knife held tightly. He briefly considered alerting Sam, but decided there was no time. If there was fresh skin, that meant the shifter was nearby and vulnerable. If he was quick he could put an end to it. As he turned the corner, he saw the soda machine, its soft glowing form the only light. He looked down on the ground beside it, and paused. _There’s nothing here._ The next thing he registered was a burst of pain at the back of his head and then there was darkness.

 

“Rise and shine, princess. Don’t want to sleep the whole day away.”

Dean opened his eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the light. _What the fuck?_ He tried to stand up, and looked down when he couldn’t move. A heavy rope was wrapped around his body, securing him to a wooden chair. He experimentally tried his arms, and realized that they were also bound behind him, his wrists tied together with more rope. “Fan-fucking-tastic,” he muttered. _We sure could’ve used whoever did this to help us truss up that demon last week._ As his vision focused, he looked up at the face staring down at him. It was his own. 

“Good morning,” the shapeshifter said. “You know, I was beginning to worry that I had killed you by mistake.”

“Really?” Dean said, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you would’ve been pretty broken up about it if you had.”

The shifter laughed. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I fully intend to kill you. Just not yet. I know your brother will eventually come looking for you.” He spread his hands. “And why stop at one, when you can collect the set? Otherwise what was the point of slaughtering all of those innocent people?” He considered. “Not that it wasn’t fun. But the real goal was getting you and your brother to notice me, and now here we are.”

“Great,” Dean quipped. “You’re a fan, I get it.” He nodded towards the ropes. “Well how about you untie me, and I’ll give you my autograph.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” the shifter replied.

“Where the hell did you learn to tie knots like this, anyway?” Dean asked, unsuccessfully attempting to loosen his wrists. “Your daddy enroll you in monster scouts?”

The shapeshifter sighed. “I wish.” He pulled over another wooden chair and set it across from Dean, before settling down into it. “Unlike you and your brother, I didn’t have my father around to teach me things.” He leaned forward. “I kind of had to learn on the go.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Dean sighed. “But I don’t see what the hell that has to do with us.”

“The reason,” the shifter continued, “that my father wasn’t there for me, is because your friend tortured him, and chopped his head off.”

Dean blinked. “What the hell are you talking about? We never tortured anybody…” He trailed off, as he started to remember. So many monsters were tortured all for the location of Purgatory. “You’re talking about Crowley?”

“Bingo!” the shifter answered. He raised an eyebrow. “And you know people say that Sam is the real brains of your operation. Look at you, putting the pieces together all by yourself.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I hate to break it to you, pal, but Crowley is no friend of ours. My brother and I have been actively trying to kill the son of a bitch since the day we met.”

“Well maybe you should’ve tried harder!” the shifter roared, his appearance rippling as though a mirage. 

Momentarily Dean thought he caught a glimpse of the monster’s true appearance before he settled back down.

“Anyway,” the shifter said, his Dean visage firmly back in place. “I don’t give a damn what Crowley is to you. You and your brother helped him. You hunted our kind for sport. Not to kill us, not even to save people, but so that you could turn us over to be brutalized. You locked us in cages like animals.”

“You were there?” Dean asked.

“I was,” the shifter confirmed. “I was very young, so I don’t remember all of it. But I remember enough.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. _How the hell is that even possible? We never gave Crowley any kids. That would’ve been too damn much, even for us…_ For the first time, he took a good look at his surroundings. _Just my luck. Another goddamn basement._

The floors were gray concrete, the walls were plain white drywall, nailed to wooden frames. There were no windows in sight. The only source of light came from overhead bulbs. Out of the corner of his eyes he thought he could make out a workbench. His stomach dropped at the recognizable orange cord that was undoubtedly connected to a power tool of some sort. But he didn’t find what he was expecting. There was no pile of shed skin or flesh anywhere in the room.

“By George, I think he’s got it,” the shifter quipped. “You know Dean, I’m beginning to think that you just pretend to be dumber than Sam so that people will think you’re cool.”

“Your father was the alpha,” Dean realized. “The first shapeshifter.”

“Ding, ding, ding!” the shifter said, rising to his feet. “My father was pure. A creature that spawned thousands of us throughout the ages of time, who in turn went on to spawn more, and so on and so on. Only the further you go from the well, the muddier the water gets.” He sneered in disgust. “My most distant relations have to physically remove their skin with every change, but as for me…” He smirked. “I’m a damn near perfect copy of my old man. All I have to do is think it,” he said, briefly changing back into the young woman from outside the motel. “And voila.” He changed back into Dean. “Much more elegant, don’t you agree?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s a neat party trick, I’ll give you that.” He glanced around again, trying to see if there was anything that he had missed which might aid in his escape. “You’re one hell of an actress, by the way. You really had me going earlier.”

“Occupational hazard,” the shifter mocked. “Bitch please. You were easy like Sunday morning.” He narrowed his eyes as he realized what Dean was doing. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, walking forward. “Your ass ain’t going nowhere. So you just get nice and cozy until Sam gets here.”

“That’s kind of hard to do with my hands tied behind my back,” Dean quipped.

The shapeshifter gave Dean a knowing look. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it. I’m under your skin now. I know what sort of freaky shit you’re into.” He raised an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact…” He leaned down so that they were eye level with one another. “We got some time to kill. What do you say, you and I break a little furniture in the meanwhile?”

Dean scoffed. “Well I must admit, out of all the faces you could’ve picked, you did happen to pick one of the most handsome, if not the most handsome in the world. But the evil twin thing doesn’t really do it for me, so thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.”

“I guess you’re right,” the shifter admitted, straightening up. “You’re not supposed to play with your food. I’m sorry, it was unprofessional of me. I never should’ve asked.” He turned his own chair around backwards and sat down again, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “Except that ever since I took on this skin, I’ve been feeling this… need.”

Dean’s jaw clenched.

“Ha!” the shifter exclaimed, noticing. “So you do know what I’m talking about.”

“Buddy, trust me when I say that is not a tree that you wanna go barking up,” Dean warned. He hated to admit that he was actually somewhat surprised Cas hadn’t shown up already. He could usually tell when Dean was in any sort of trouble, and Dean doubted that a little thing like being told to get lost would actually keep him from assisting in a genuine time of need. He knew that much from experience.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” the shifter agreed, putting his hands up. “If these thoughts of yours are anything to go by, your lover is not someone that I ever want to run into in a dark alley. I prefer to stick to my own weight class, thank you very much.”

“Wise advice,” Dean muttered.

“But then again,” the shifter mused. “Try as I might, I can’t shake this feeling. It’s so… distracting. It frustrates me. It makes me want…” He laughed. “Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what it makes me want. Honest question, how the hell do you manage to even get through the day when you have something like that waiting at home for you?”

“Maybe you didn’t absorb enough of my self-control,” Dean quipped.

The shifter laughed again. “Good one.” He pointed at Dean. “You know, you’re not the first hunter whose skin I’ve taken for a test drive. Most of you are pretty boring. All you think about is hunting, and killing, and saving innocent people. Inconsequential little bullshit like that.” He shrugged. “But you… that’s all there, the drive to hunt, but there’s another drive, one that’s almost more powerful than that.” He raised his eyebrow. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Man, you shapeshifters all really love the sound of your own voice.” He blinked, realizing what he’d just said. “My voice. Whatever.”

The shifter shrugged again. “Maybe. But not nearly as much as you love the sound of his voice.”

Dean bristled.

“I can hear it, you know,” the shifter informed him. “The way that it sounds, so low, so full of intent.” He shuddered. “God. Who can resist someone that sounds like that?”

 _I did,_ Dean thought ironically. _For over eight years, in fact._

“And the things that he does,” the shifter continued, his eyes dark. “The way that he fucks you...” He shuddered again. “To tell you the truth, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

“You’d better be careful with that,” Dean quipped. “I’ve heard that too much of it will make you go blind.”

The shifter stood up and walked over to Dean. “Funny, but that’s not what I had in mind.” He leaned down and placed his hands on Dean’s thighs, their faces almost touching. “How about it then? You want to help me work out some of this frustration so that I can get back to focusing on killing you and your brother?”

“Sorry,” Dean said. “Like I said, you’re not my type.”

“Right,” the shifter replied, nodding. “I forgot. You only get it up for one person these days.” His eyes gleamed. “Well that can be arranged.”

Dean leaned back and head butted the shifter so hard that he saw stars. 

The shifter stumbled back, rubbing at his forehead. “Fuck! That hurts!” He kicked Dean in the chest, knocking the chair backwards onto the floor. “Don’t be fucking rude!”

Dean winced as he felt the unmistakable crunch of a broken bone. _Well that’s just great. Same hand too._ He sucked in a pained breath as the shifter lifted his chair up and set it back into place.

“Sorry,” the shifter breathed. “I don’t have the best temper, even when I’m not wearing you.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But that little burst of aggression did help to alleviate some of the horniness, so thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” Dean quipped, his wrist and ribs aching. 

“All the same,” the shifter continued. “I think I’m going to head upstairs for a bit. Maybe I’ll run into your brother. See how long I can convince him that I’m you before he figures it out.”

“Sounds like a great plan,” Dean gritted. “I can’t see how it could possibly go wrong.”

The shapeshifter shot Dean a glare. “I’m going to miss your sense of humor once I’ve killed you. But I’ll get over it.” He walked away.

Dean closed his eyes and listened to the footsteps moving off behind him. He could hear the change in sound as the shifter reached what must be stairs and headed up before closing a door. The basement plunged into darkness and he let out a breath. _Great._

Dean had no way of keeping track of time as he sat there in the dark. The pain in his wrist had quieted from a raging inferno down to a dull burn. Aside from whatever power tool was in the corner waiting to be used against him, he didn’t know of anything that could help him in this situation. 

Of course he knew of one surefire way to get himself out of this place, but as far as he was concerned, calling Cas was not an option. To ask for his help now would be to admit that everything that happened over the past week was for nothing, and while Sam was a little closer to the truth than Dean cared to admit, he still felt there was a lesson to be gained in all this. A lesson that would be wasted if he caved in now. 

Dean knew now what it meant, being with Cas outside of the bunker. It meant that every single smartassed son of a bitch with a bone to pick with him was going to have something to say, but at the end of the day, so what? Sam was right. It didn’t matter what they thought. Most of them were dead already, they just didn’t know it, so who gave a crap. He would make things right with Cas, of that he was certain, but he would save his own ass first. Then he would make that shifter pay for all the trash he’d been talking.

 _First things first,_ Dean decided, his resolve set. _I need to get out of this chair._ He sighed, knowing that this was going to hurt like a bitch, but it was better than sitting around waiting to get mutilated. He tugged forcefully against the ropes binding his hands, almost shouting from the immediate return of the pain at its highest intensity. _Oh fuck! Oh shit! Cas, if you’re listening, you stay the hell away from here, no matter what! I mean it! What I said from before still stands, I don’t wanna see your ass again until I get back to the bunker!_

Dean took a deep breath and continued to pull, straining against the knots. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, but he persisted, pushing through the pain. His breath caught as he felt his damaged hand slip free of the ropes. Very slowly, he worked his other hand through the loosened opening, being careful not to accidentally pull it tight again. He sighed with relief as his hands were freed, resting them briefly on his lap as full sensation returned. With his one good hand he worked at the rest of the knots, cursing with every breath.

As soon as he was free, he stood up and looked around, hoping that he had missed something that could be used as a weapon. The lights came back on and he heard the basement door open. _Shit._ He flipped the chair over and stomped down on the legs, snapping them off. He worked quickly, grabbing the makeshift stakes just as the shifter came down the stairs.

“Well, I got bored of waiting, so I decided to start the festivities early…” the voice trailed off as he saw Dean standing there holding a large piece of splintered wood. “Hey Buffy, check you out,” the shifter taunted. “Just what do you think you’re gonna do with that?”

Dean lunged forward and plunged the stake directly into the shifter’s chest.

“Ow!” the shifter yelled. He stared down in disbelief at the stake embedded in his chest, before glaring back up at Dean. “That won’t kill me, you dick!”

“Maybe not,” Dean replied, picking up another stake. “But I’ll bet it still hurts like a bitch, don’t it?”

“Not nearly as much as what I’m going to do to you,” the shifter snarled. He reached down and tugged the stake out of his flesh.

 _Damn,_ Dean thought. _Barely slowed him down._ He rushed at the shifter, intending to bury the other stake in its neck.

The shifter ducked down at the last second and flipped Dean up and over his back.

Dean landed hard on the workbench, his hand exploding with fresh pain. He shook his head, trying to recover his bearings. The sound of a power saw starting up caused his blood to run cold. He rolled over just in time as the spinning blade sliced into the table where his head had just been. “Well you definitely don’t play fair,” he quipped, still gripping his stake as he scrambled to keep the bench between them.

The shapeshifter glared, still holding the saw. “What can I say? I hate to lose.”

Just as Dean was debating whether or not he should stand and fight or try to escape, the door at the top of the stairs was kicked open. He glanced over, expecting to see Cas. _Dammit…_

Sam came down the stairs, gun pointed in their direction.

Dean sighed with relief. “Boy am I glad to see you.”

“Listen Sam,” the shifter started. 

“Shut up, both of you,” Sam ordered. “This gun is filled with silver bullets. Either one of you moves, I’ll shoot you both.” He gestured. “Now drop it. Both of you.”

Dean glanced distrustfully at the shifter. Slowly he set the stake down on the workbench, keeping it within reach.

“You too,” Sam ordered. “Shut off the saw, and put it down.”

The shifter turned off the saw and set it on the bench, following Dean’s lead.

Sam moved closer, keeping his gun trained on them as he looked back and forth.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. We’ve been through this like a million times. Don’t tell me that you can’t actually tell us apart!”

“Don’t listen to him, Sammy,” the shifter said. “It’s a trick. I mean, I’d know better than to try and use a wooden stake on a shifter. I’m not an idiot!”

Dean sighed. “Dude, shut up.” He looked at his brother. “Sam, I’m tired. It’s been a long day, alright?”

“He’s right,” the shifter agreed. “It has been a long day, so could you do me a favor and hurry up and plug this guy, so I can get home to my boyfriend?”

Sam immediately turned and fired six shots into the shapeshifter.

Dean breathed with relief as the creature dropped dead to the floor, the shocked expression still on its face as it reverted back into the woman that he had seen earlier. “Huh,” he said, raising his eyebrows as Sam approached. “So that was its real form, after all. Daddy’s little girl should’ve been more upfront with me. I might’ve considered taking her up on her proposition.”

Sam gave Dean a strange look. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. He cleared his throat. “How did you know that wasn’t me?”

Sam snorted. “Because you would rather die than ever refer to Cas as your boyfriend.” He put his gun away. “You barely even claim him as it is.”

“Ouch,” Dean said. “That’s harsh. But I guess you have a point.” He grimaced, cradling his hand.

“Broken?” Sam asked, noticing Dean’s wince.

“Yep,” Dean replied. “I pissed off alpha junior here, and he, err, she ‘This is Sparta’d’ me while I was tied to a chair. Snapped like a Kit-Kat.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You were tied to a chair, you broke your hand, and you still managed to get free to defend yourself.” He whistled. “Nice work.”

“I’ve been doing this gig a lot longer than you have,” Dean shot back, heading towards the stairs. “I’m not completely helpless, despite what you and Cas seem to think. How'd you find me anyway?”

“Sketchy motel owner wrote down the license plate numbers of every car on the property. I took his log book, crosschecked it with traffic camera footage, and then traced it back here,” Sam explained, following Dean up the stairs and out of the house. “I have to admit,” he continued, as they walked down the road to where the Impala was parked in the grass. “I’m kind of surprised that Cas didn’t show up first.”

“I ordered him not to,” Dean admitted. He glanced at his brother. “I’m going to call him when we get back to the bunker. But what I said still stands. I can’t have him fighting my battles for me, you know? That’s not his job.”

“It’s not,” Sam agreed. “But you and I both know that if it’s a choice between doing his job and saving you, you’ll win every time.”

“I know,” Dean sighed, heading for the driver’s side of the car. “And if I ever get into a situation so fucked up that I genuinely can’t myself get out, I’ll call his ass in a heartbeat, believe me. But otherwise—”

“Uh Dean,” Sam cut in. “If you think I’m about to let you drive us anywhere with a broken hand, you must’ve cracked your head too, when you fell back there.”

Dean shot his brother a glare. “Don’t be fucking rude.” He crossed over to the passenger side of the car. “You happy now?” he asked, as he climbed inside and shut the door.

“Sure,” Sam replied, settling into the driver’s seat. He started the engine. “So where to?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his eyes narrowed. “You didn’t find another goddamn case, did you?!”

“No.” Sam gestured towards Dean’s wrist. “I mean, do you want to go to a hospital? Or do you want to go home?”

Dean sighed with relief and relaxed back against the seat. “Home.” He glanced at Sam. “After all, what’s the point of having Cas for a boyfriend if I can’t take advantage of some of the perks?”

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. “And now you’re going to keep saying it, just to prove me wrong.”

 

Dean had expected that Cas would be waiting for him at the bunker when they got back. He shrugged off his disappointment when he found the place was empty.

“You good?” Sam asked, noticing the slight change in his brother’s mood.

“I will be,” Dean replied honestly. “I guess he’s busy with something. I’ll just pop a couple painkillers and tough it out until he gets back.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll leave you to it then.” He headed off towards the kitchen.

Dean walked down the long corridor to his room. He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited, the combination of painkillers and a few sips of booze having quieted the pain to a tolerable level. When Castiel finally walked through the door, Dean felt his heart jump and realized that the shifter had been dead on. There was something that he wanted every bit as much as hunting.

Without being asked, Castiel walked over to Dean and placed his hand upon his wrist.

Dean winced as the bones repaired themselves, the dull pain fading away. “Thanks,” he said, flexing his hand experimentally.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I would’ve come sooner, but I was preoccupied with some pressing matters in Heaven. Are you alright?”

“I am now,” Dean replied. They looked at one another for a few moments, the silence growing increasingly uncomfortable by the minute.

“I am glad to know that you’re alright,” Castiel said finally, as though coming to a decision. He turned to go.

Dean cleared his throat. “The other day, when I was in trouble, did you know?”

Castiel turned back to Dean. “I was aware that you were experiencing some level of discomfort, yes.”

“And you didn’t show up to help me out?” Dean questioned.

Castiel shook his head. “As much as I wished to, I knew that you did not truly need me there,” he explained, meeting Dean’s gaze. “And you have made it quite clear that you do not want my assistance in these instances, so I stayed away.”

“You actually trusted me to handle it?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Your skills as a hunter are unrivaled. Even if some of the decisions that you make are questionable at times, I trusted that you would be able to take care of yourself.”

 _I guess he heard me loud and clear,_ Dean mused.

“And you had Sam with you,” Castiel added. “I knew that he was more than capable of resolving the issue.”

Dean huffed inwardly. _Of course._ “Well anyway, thanks for not coming to the rescue. I appreciate it.” He hesitated. “And thanks again for healing me. I appreciate that too.”

Castiel inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Goodnight Dean.” He turned to leave.

Dean felt his pulse picking up. “Where are you going?” he asked.

Castiel paused and looked at Dean as though it should be obvious. “I am returning to Heaven.”

 _So you’re going to disappear on me again._ Dean wavered, on the brink of telling Cas exactly how he felt and still not sure he was ready to lay it all out there. “When I said I needed space, I didn’t mean that you had to leave the bunker,” he said quietly. “You have a room here for a reason.”

“I know,” Castiel admitted, glancing away. “I felt it was best that I remain in Heaven. It was my choice.”

“Oh,” Dean said, not knowing what else to say. _So he really doesn’t want to be here…_

Castiel turned to go.

“Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel paused and looked at Dean.

“I would prefer if you stayed in the bunker,” Dean said, not looking at Cas. He knew it was selfish, but he had to ask. “I know you said it was your choice to remain in Heaven, but… It would make me feel better if I didn’t have to worry about where you are all the time.” _And if you were ever coming back._

Castiel considered. “Alright,” he said after a few moments. “Goodnight Dean.” 

Dean watched him go. Even though he was fairly certain that Cas was going to honor his request to stay in the bunker, it still didn’t ease his troubled mind. His room was only down the hall, but with the way things felt right now, it might as well be on the moon.

 

Castiel turned the pages of his book, absently committing the words to memory without actually taking in their meaning. Being here in this room didn’t feel the same, not with things so confused between him and Dean. He almost felt like a visitor now, and although he still felt much the same in Heaven, it at least made sense for him to be there. There was no reason for him to remain in the bunker, absent Dean’s request. Yet Castiel had agreed to remain, and so he would, although it presently brought him no joy.

Castiel looked up from his book as he felt a presence enter his room. He took note of Dean’s disheveled appearance and realized that he’d been trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, for apparently quite some time judging by his exhausted expression. Castiel would’ve been distressed if the sight of the hunter standing in his doorway wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of white briefs wasn’t so visually appealing. He set his book down on the corner of his desk, already forgotten. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

 _Yeah. Everything._ Dean looked at Cas for a moment through tired eyes. He sighed as though coming to a decision, and stepped forward into the room. Without a single word, he approached his friend and began to tug at his coat.

Castiel obligingly slipped out of his coat and allowed it to fall loosely across the back of the chair. He watched in mild surprise as Dean next turned his attention to his tie, loosening it, before clumsily undoing the top few buttons on his shirt. He stopped short of removing it completely, leaving Castiel with even more questions.

Dean pulled at Cas’ shoulders, urging him to his feet. Before the angel could make sense of what his hunter was getting at, Dean began pushing him towards the bed, still not offering any explanation for his actions. Castiel allowed himself to be moved, willing to go along with whatever Dean had planned, even if his silence was highly confusing.

Dean kept pushing Castiel until he had settled down onto the bed. Then with another sigh, Dean joined him, settling his own form against Cas’ in an effort to get comfortable. He could feel Cas shifting, helping him without needing an explanation, which was good. He wasn’t sure if he could explain this. He just knew that this was where he needed to be. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was Cas’ fingers in his hair.

Castiel remained still as Dean slept, warm breath against his collarbone. Despite eons of observation, human behavior still remained somewhat of a mystery, and of these, none was a greater mystery than Dean. He thought he understood now that this was something that Dean needed, and since he didn’t know how to ask for it, he simply made it happen. Dean didn’t just want him beneath the same roof, he wanted him in the same bed. And so Castiel stayed put as the hours passed, patiently waiting for Dean to return to wakefulness. Once when his friend stirred and mumbled to himself, Castiel gently brushed his fingers across Dean’s shoulder brand, which quickly settled him back down, his breathing deepening again. Castiel continued to drift his thumb along the brand periodically, sending his soothing intentions to Dean in his unconscious state.


	3. A Mutual Understanding

Waking up late in the afternoon, Dean could tell that he was alone again before he even opened his eyes. He hadn’t felt Cas leave exactly, the angel was far too skilled for that. He had however sensed a gradual fading of the comfort that he experienced when they shared a bed, the warmth, and that other emotion that he still struggled to fully conceptualize. It was the absence of Cas that made waking up alone in his bed that much more difficult.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled to the empty air. He looked over at the desk, remembering how Cas had looked sitting there last night. Dean had known then that he didn’t want to be here. _I should’ve said something. I should’ve explained…_ He sighed. _At least he put the sheets over me. I guess that means he still cares enough to make sure I wouldn’t freeze my ass off once he was gone._

Sitting up, he threw back the covers and felt an intense jab of pain in the tip of his finger. “Ow!” He peered down at the bed and found the culprit, a lone black feather. He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand. Cas’ feathers always fascinated him, the way their darkness seemed to somehow encompass all colors and none at once, so inky that it appeared to shimmer, a black pool whose depths stretched on for an eternity. He thought he understood now why the other angels were terrified of them. It would be so easy to get lost in something like that.

Dean took care to be quiet as he crept down the hall back to his own room, since he didn’t think he could handle Sam seeing him just yet. He didn’t want him to read the message written all over his face, the fear that this thing with Cas might not blow over. He once again cursed himself for not taking the initiative to settle it when he had the chance. Cas had stayed last night because he’d asked him to, but the second he got an opening, he’d left and there was no telling when he might show up again. 

_He probably only showed up to heal me in the first place,_ Dean thought as he got dressed. _I guess I should just be grateful for that._ He flexed his hand, considering. The last thing he wanted to do was lurk around the bunker feeling sorry for himself. Nor did he relish the thought of jumping back on the road so soon. That left one option.

 

Sitting at the bar an hour down the road, Dean still didn’t feel up to calling Cas. It had long since stopped being a matter of pride, it was now a matter of fear. He had waited this long, and possibly missed his chance. If he finally did call and Cas didn’t show up, he honestly didn’t think he could take it. 

Instead he half-heartedly raised the glass of whiskey to his lips. So far he’d barely touched it, just wanting to have a reason to stay here rather than going back to the bunker and facing Sam’s concerned gaze and his own disappointment. At least here he could be alone with his somber thoughts, muffled by the backdrop of whatever passed for country music these days.

“Day drinking,” spoke a voice in a clipped British accent. “Tacky, even by your standards Squirrel.”

“Crowley,” Dean sighed, setting his glass down. “Now what are you doing here, when there’s a whole great big world full of people whose day you can ruin?” He didn’t bother to look at the demon as he took the seat beside him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I have no intention of wasting an entire day with you,” Crowley replied, not the least bit deterred by Dean’s brusque treatment. “I just needed to get clarification on an issue that has been giving me a dollop of concern lately.”

Dean groaned inwardly. _Word travels fast._

“Perhaps dollop is too strong of a word,” Crowley mused. “At any rate, there has been a rather troubling rumor afoot and I hoped you might put it to rest.”

Dean bristled, fully intending to tell Crowley that what went on between him and Cas was none of his goddamn business.

“One of my demons met an unpleasant end a while back,” Crowley continued. “Another one of my demons happened upon the dusty aftermath. I assure you, I shed no tears for his passing, however the method of his demise…”

Dean gave Crowley a strange look. “What?” Then he remembered. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh?!” Crowley asked, eyes narrowing. “So that’s it then? Lucifer is back and killing demons, and all you have to say is ‘oh?’” He glowered. “I know we haven’t exactly been on the best of terms, but you could’ve given me the heads up at the very least.”

“That wasn’t Lucifer,” Dean replied, finally seeing what Crowley was getting at. “That was Cas.”

Crowley looked equally stunned and horrified. “Castiel? You mean to tell me that Feathers is now going around, disintegrating people like that lunatic brother of his used to do?”

Dean had to admit that he wasn’t particularly pleased that Cas had stumbled upon that method of dispatching demons either. “To be fair, the demon he killed had it coming.”

“Of course he did,” Crowley replied, looking at Dean as if he were stupid. “He was a demon. We all have it coming. I’m not bothered that he’s dead, I’m bothered at how it was done. Killing someone by snapping your fingers is so… gauche.”

Dean considered. “Not the word I’d use. But yeah, I don’t even think Cas likes it.”

“I suppose he’ll be setting them on fire next like Michael,” Crowley grumbled.

“It’s a possibility,” Dean admitted. “I don’t think he’s entirely discovered the limits of his power yet.”

“If that was meant to be comforting, it wasn’t,” Crowley replied. He reached over and took Dean’s whiskey.

Dean watched, annoyed yet slightly amused as the demon downed the drink in one gulp. “Can I get a beer?” he called to the bartender.

Crowley set the empty glass back down. “Well, now that I know it wasn’t Lucifer, I suppose I can rest easily,” he said. He stood up from his seat and tossed a stack of bills down onto the bar top. “Enjoy your drink, Squirrel.”

“The alpha shapeshifter’s daughter sends her regards, by the way,” Dean called.

“Beg pardon?” Crowley asked, eyebrows raised.

“I ran into her,” Dean explained. “She thought you and I were friends, so she planned to torture me and then Sam as payback for what you did to her dad.”

“Did you tell her that we bloody hate each other’s guts?” Crowley asked.

“Tried,” Dean said. “She didn’t listen. Kicked me in the chest and broke my hand before Sam got her with the silver bullets. She probably would’ve come looking for you next, so you’re welcome.”

“Thanks ever so much,” Crowley drawled. “I’ll be sure to send a fruit basket. Give my best to Moose and Feathers.”

“Listen,” Dean started. He turned around on his stool and beckoned Crowley to return to his seat. “About Cas…” _Might as well rip the band-aid off. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out._

Crowley strolled back over to the bar and sat down again, just as the bartender placed an open bottle in front of Dean. He signaled for a refill on the whiskey. “What about him?”

Dean took a long swig of beer to bolster his nerves, then sighed. “There’s something you should know, and I wanted you to hear it from me. Me and Cas, we’re involved.”

Crowley merely continued to look at Dean.

“Romantically,” Dean added, the word rolling off his tongue about as easily as peanut butter. He dared a sideways glance at Crowley, expecting an expression of shock or disgust.

Crowley blinked. “That’s it?” He gave Dean a bland stare. “You and Feathers are now regularly touching one another’s no-no parts?”

Dean didn’t miss the irony in the fact that now he was the one wearing an expression of shock and disgust.

“That’s why you’re day drinking in this dump?” Crowley asked. “Trouble in literal paradise?” He shook his head. “Squirrel, you are so utterly predictable.”

“Wait,” Dean said, shaking his head. He had a flashback to the night he told Sam about his kiss with Castiel, and the utter lack of surprise on his brother’s face. _Was everyone else seeing something that I missed?!_ “How are you not more surprised?”

“Oh I am a bit,” Crowley conceded. “I thought that you’d be a pile of bones before you’d ever find it in yourself to admit that you were head over heels for that sanctimonious glowing ball of self-righteousness.” He shrugged. “The general consensus amongst demons was that the two of you had already been shagging like rabbits for years, but Meg informed me such was not the case.” He chuckled and lifted his glass to his lips. “She had high hopes of breaking in that stallion. I guess you beat her to the finish line.”

Dean cringed. “First of all, gross. Second of all, I didn’t beat her to the finish line. Technically the first person Cas ever slept with was a reaper who tried to kill him.” He considered. “Then again, he was married for like six months to some woman who called him Emmanuel…” He filed that away under things to ask Cas about later.

“Congratulations,” Crowley said drily. “You made it to the winner’s circle. Honestly Squirrel, which part is meant to shock and awe? He’s been obsessed with you for ages. And the only other person I’ve ever seen you act half as dangerously co-dependent towards is your brother, and at least you’re not shagging him so… as I’ve said, congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He lifted his bottle to his lips.

“So what’s the matter?” Crowley drawled. “Being pumped full of the holy spirit not all it’s cracked up to be?”

Dean shot Crowley a glare. “Watch it.” He took another swig of beer. “Anyway, it’s none of your business. The only reason I told you was because I knew one of your demons would come running to you with the news sooner or later. I just didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking you held something over me. That’s all.”

“You’re right,” Crowley said. “They would trip all over themselves to bring me a bit of juicy gossip such as that, and then I would be obligated to reward one of them, so thank you for saving me the aggravation.”

Dean raised his bottle. “You’re welcome.” He continued to drink in silence, feeling Crowley’s eyes on him.

After a few moments, Crowley sighed. “Squirrel, a word of advice—”

“No thanks,” Dean cut in. He gave Crowley a sideways glance. “Ain’t no way in hell I’m taking relationship pointers from you.”

“Why not?” Crowley asked, offended. “Granted, my one and only attempt at matrimony did not pan out, but do you have any idea how many lovers I’ve known throughout the ages?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. Couple hundred? Few thousand?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Crowley replied. “Stopped counting once I made the low millions.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“My point is that I know a little something about these delicate matters. Out of all of my many esteemed partners, there is not a single one alive who would not be absolutely thrilled to see me again. I could share my secret with you, if you’d like.”

“I’m not selling my soul for a bigger dick,” Dean replied. “So you can forget it. Besides, I never had that problem.”

“I know,” Crowley replied, giving Dean a look over. “I’ve seen your fun bits remember? Demon you was quite the exhibitionist.” He leaned on his elbow. “Although I am curious as to how your beloved measures up. I’ve always wondered what sort of package—”

“Aaaaaand we’re done here,” Dean cut in. He finished his beer and slapped a stack of ones onto the bar top. He stood up, fishing his keys out of his pocket and started heading towards the door.

“It’s solid advice,” Crowley called, swirling his drink in his hand. “Wouldn’t steer you wrong when it comes to this. Feathers might evaporate me.”

Dean sighed. “Fine.” He turned around. “I’ll bite. What is it?”

“The trick is to make them feel like they are the literal center of your universe whenever you’re together. Then once you’re apart, they’ll never be able to get you out of their heads,” Crowley explained. “Forever a fond thought in the back of their mind.”

Dean hated to admit, Crowley’s suggestion was pretty sound.

“Or you can treat them like absolute garbage, so that once you do finally throw them a bone they’ll be eternally grateful,” Crowley mused. “Different strategies for different individuals.”

Dean rolled his eyes. _And there it is._ “Thanks,” he said. “But I’ve got this.”

 

 _I do not got this,_ Dean thought, pulling the Impala into the bunker garage. He climbed out of the car and headed for the stairs, still no closer to a solution than he had been since he left. Calling Cas after everything now seemed like a cheap shot, and he deserved better than that. If he didn’t want to stay in the bunker, then Dean wouldn’t press the issue. He was just glad that he had at least gotten last night. It would have to do for now.

Sam glanced up as Dean entered the room.

“I’m not drunk,” Dean said, before his brother could start in with the speeches. “I’m just annoyed. Crowley ambushed me at the bar. I only had a sip of whiskey and one beer before I got the hell out of there.”

“He attacked you?” Sam asked, stunned.

“No,” Dean replied. “He wanted to grill me on the demon Cas killed. He thought it was Lucifer, I informed him that it was just Cas, trying out a new skill set.”

“Oh,” Sam said, relieved. He settled back in his chair.

Dean waited a moment before continuing. “I also told him that Cas and I were seeing each other.”

Sam blinked. “Okay, two things. No, make that three. Why on earth did you tell Crowley, of all people? What was his response?” He paused. “And what do you mean, you **_were_** seeing each other? Aren’t you still together?”

“That’s four questions,” Dean pointed out. “I told Crowley because that demon was right. It’s only a matter of time until word gets out, so I figure I’ll just head them off at the pass, that way it can’t be used against me. As for his response, he was basically like big whoop. He didn’t care.” He rolled his eyes. “He did ask me if Cas was packing, which I didn’t answer.”

Sam tried and failed to hide a slight grimace. 

“He is, by the way,” Dean added, not missing the twitching of his brother’s face. “In case you were wondering.”

Sam groaned. “I assure you, I wasn't. Anyway, what do you mean you **_were_** seeing each other? Cas was here last night, right? I see your hand is healed.”

“He was,” Dean sighed, his fleeting joy at tormenting his brother eclipsed by his worry about the future of his relationship with Cas. “But I mean, I think I may have really screwed up this time. Things might be rough between us for a while.”

“Well,” Sam started, gesturing.

“Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so,’” Dean warned. “Or so help me, I will run over your laptop with my car.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Sam replied, pulling his laptop closer to him nonetheless. “I was going to say, that you should give him what he gave you. Time and space. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“Yeah, probably sometime next year,” Dean sighed.

“Or you can call him,” Sam suggested. “Tell him you made a mistake and that you’re sorry. See what he says.”

Dean considered, then shook his head. “I already thought about it in the car. I’m not going to go calling Cas every time I screw up, asking him to forgive me. I’ll wait until he’s ready to see me on his own time. I owe him that much at least.” He sighed again and stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stare at the ceiling until my brain gets bored enough to shut down for the night.” He drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “Night Sammy.”

“Night Dean.”

Dean had to admit that he felt marginally better about his situation with Cas. Unwanted encounter with Crowley notwithstanding, actually admitting aloud that he had a problem seemed to somehow make things more bearable. A problem was like a case, it could be worked and eventually solved, and he would. 

Dean was so lost in thought when he opened his bedroom door that it took a moment for it to register. Castiel was sitting at his desk, reading the same book he’d held the night before. Just as he had done last night, Castiel looked up when Dean entered the room and placed the book upon the desk.

Dean froze, too caught off guard to do anything other than stare at Cas with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. 

“After last night I realized that you must be having some difficulty sleeping on your own, having grown accustomed to my presence,” Castiel began. “If you wish, I will stay with you at night, so that you can properly rest.”

Dean could barely hear a single word Cas was saying, the rush of blood was too loud in his ears. All he knew was that his angel was back in his room, without him even having to ask.

“I will remain fully dressed,” Castiel assured him. “As I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

 _Uncomfortable?_ Dean once thought he had known the meaning of the word, but that was before he had woken up alone in Cas’ bed. The only way Cas could make him uncomfortable was to not be there. 

“Or I can return to my own room,” Castiel offered, rising to his feet. “Perhaps I misread—”

“No,” Dean cut in, finally finding words. He swallowed, his gaze fixed on Cas. “You didn’t misread. You almost never do.”

Castiel looked back at Dean.

“You get me,” Dean said. “Sometimes better than I get myself.” He swallowed again, taking a hesitant step towards Cas. “I told you I needed space and you gave it to me. You gave me so much space I couldn’t stand it.”

Castiel opened his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Dean said quickly, taking another step forward. “I asked for it. I asked, and you answered, like you always do. You gave me what I thought I wanted, like you always do.”

“If it is within my power I will always try to accommodate any reasonable request you may have,” Castiel replied. “You know that.”

Dean nodded, taking another step forward. “Yeah, I do. So here’s another one.” He took a breath. “I want us back. You and me, together. All that crap I said before, about us not being together and working together, forget about it. Forget about me asking for time. Forget about me asking for space. Forget about me not appreciating all the help you give us.” He sighed. “Forget about me being a jerk.”

“I said any _**reasonable**_ request,” Castiel replied deadpan.

 _Damn Cas… He must still be a little pissed._ Dean felt a great relief when he noticed the look of amusement slowly appearing on Cas’ face. “I guess I deserved that.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I’m sorry. For everything. If you need some time to forgive me, I understand.”

Castiel considered. “What if I also need some space?”

Dean cringed inwardly. “Well, if that’s what you need… then sure.” He shrugged, resigning himself to a long string of sleepless nights until Cas decided to give him another chance. “I can live with that. I mean, it’s only fair.”

“Alright,” Castiel said after a moment. “In that case, I will take both.”

Dean stepped aside as Castiel walked by, heading towards the door. Part of him wanted to ask Cas just how long he planned to stay gone, but another part of him insisted it was none of his business. _Sam tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen. Hell even Crowley threw in his two cents, and I tossed it aside. Now all I can do is wait._

Instead of exiting Dean’s room, Castiel closed the bedroom door and locked it.

Dean’s eyebrows raised at the sound of the bolt sliding home. _Or not._ He watched, relief pouring over him as Castiel approached, his gaze fixed on Dean. _Looks like the wait is over._

Castiel stopped just in front of Dean and waited.

“Had enough space already?” Dean quipped, even though his pulse was now racing and he felt anything but calm.

“There is indeed far too much space remaining for my liking,” Castiel confirmed.

Dean grinned. It was true, Cas got him, but sometimes Dean got him too. Without needing to be asked, he stepped forward, closing the last of the space between them as his arms went around Cas’ shoulders.

“Thought you also needed time,” Dean teased.

“Oh, I intend to take my time,” Castiel assured him.

Dean certainly liked the sound of that. He shrugged out of his flannel, tossing it back over his shoulder, before pulling his undershirt over his head. He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, that familiar electric tingle running over the surface of his exposed skin.

Dean reached for his belt buckle next, but before he got the chance Castiel brushed his hands aside. His eyebrows raised as Cas backed him up against the desk, his ass pressed into the edge. _Guess I wasn’t moving fast enough._

Castiel took over, unfastening Dean’s belt before moving on to his zipper. Dean leaned his hips forward slightly to help as Castiel lowered the jeans down his legs, the denim rustling softly onto the floor.

Dean fully expected Cas to have at it, so he was somewhat confused when the angel simply stared at him for a long moment, as he stood there in his briefs, leaning back against the desk. There was something in his eyes that Dean couldn’t name, and he wished that he too had the ability to read minds. Then Cas leaned in and kissed him, and there was such hunger beneath his lips that Dean realized what he’d just seen. Cas didn’t eat food, but he still knew what it meant to be ravenous.

Dean lifted his hands to Castiel’s back, only to have them once again brushed aside. When he stubbornly made a second attempt, Cas took hold of his hands and rested them on the edge of the desk, holding them in place with his own. 

“I can’t touch you now?” Dean asked, slightly embarrassed by how breathy his voice sounded. They hadn’t even gotten started and he was already halfway to losing control.

Instead of replying, Castiel gave Dean a look that dared him to make a third attempt. Then he released his hold on Dean’s hands and raised his own to the hunter’s face, lightly brushing his thumb along his jawline as he kissed him again.

Dean took the hint. He kept his hands where Cas had placed them, fingers curling around the edge of the desk as he took Cas’ tongue into his mouth. It still amazed him, the way that Cas was able to wind him up so tight with the way that he kissed. The angel was a natural, his tongue and lips knowing the exact way to move, a light caress, a gentle nibble of lip, a slow stroke. _One of these days I’m gonna watch that damn pizza man movie._

Castiel pulled back, not missing the way Dean tried to catch his lips again. Instead he gently turned the hunter’s head to the side and began paying attention to his neck, his other hand lightly settling upon Dean’s lower back.

Dean arched against Cas, his thighs squeezing slightly. He didn’t need to look down to know that he was harder than a rock. Whatever game Cas was playing here, Dean was into it, mind, body, and soul. He lifted a hand from the desk, dying to at least run his fingers through Cas’ hair if nothing else. His hand hesitated in mid-air, unsure whether or not he was allowed.

“You may,” Castiel growled, his lips now scorching a path down the center of Dean’s chest.

Dean needed no further invitation. He sank his fingers into Cas’ hair, caressing the dark strands while the angel continued his mission to touch his lips to every inch of his skin. Dean almost managed to keep quiet until Cas began paying almost worshipful attention to one of his nipples, the stiffened bud being gently rolled and rolled until Dean could feel tingles shooting from the ends of toes up through the top of his head and clean out into the atmosphere. Cas backed off after a bit and Dean breathed a quiet sigh of relief only to suck it back in once the other nipple was given the same treatment.

Castiel could feel Dean’s desire for him in every press of his lips to the hunter’s skin. He could taste it, the heady mix of hormones and aroma that was unique only to him. His saliva, his sweat, his skin, it was all so powerfully and unapologetically Dean. 

Dean felt Cas moving lower, his stomach muscles tensing as a series of hot kisses pressed a trail heading down, down, down. It was all Dean could do not to yank out a handful of Cas’ hair as he felt Cas’ mouth close over the head of his brief-clad erection, the heat almost unbearable even through the thin barrier of fabric.

Castiel took his time, savoring the taste of Dean that was once again so treasured. He could feel the urgency in the way Dean’s fingers kept sliding through his hair, grazing his scalp, while his thighs tensed. He placed his hands lower, grasping onto the smooth firmness of Dean’s ass as he worked, the fabric growing damper still from the wetness of his mouth and the ever increasing pulses of precum.

Dean was officially gone. He was all in. If Cas asked him right now for anything, a house, a car, a hive of bees, he would agree. He’d do his damnedest to make it happen. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan as he felt one of Cas’ hands move between his cheeks, thumb pressing at the fabric over his entrance, as his mouth continued to tease his painfully hard cock.

Castiel’s own lust for Dean was raging inside of him, pacing like a living thing, but he chose to focus on the way Dean felt, sounded, tasted. He was on the precipice of something truly wonderful, and it simply would not do to rush. Ignoring his urge to devour Dean until there was nothing left, he pulled back and looked up at him, assessing his handiwork. 

Dean stared down at Castiel through half-closed eyes, his mind in a daze. “What are you doing to me?” he breathed. 

Instead of answering, Castiel moved his hands around to Dean’s hips, slowly lowering his briefs as his fingertips ghosted along his thighs.

Dean sucked in a breath as the head of his cock caught briefly on the waistband, stubbornly clinging to the damp fabric before finally springing free to slap against his lower stomach. He felt Cas’ thumbs digging into his thighs, clearly enjoying the sound. If Cas were to touch him now, hell if he so much as breathed on him, it would all be over before it had really begun. Dean knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt, and still his hips strained of their own accord, yearning towards release.

Castiel knew it too, judging by the way he let his hand fall from Dean’s thighs and rose to his feet. His eyes roamed over Dean’s body, drinking it all in before finally meeting his eyes.

Dean swallowed hard, holding Cas’ gaze. 

“Bed.”

Dean nearly launched himself onto the mattress, any concerns or hang-ups about his pride flying clean out the window. He was done playing it cool, acting like this relationship wasn’t the best damn thing that ever happened to him. He wanted Cas, wanted him with every fiber of his being, and he didn’t give one single fuck who knew about it. _Let them talk their shit. Let them call me whipped, a bitch, whatever. Let them all talk as much trash as they want, because I’ve got Cas now, and I’ll be damned if I am ever giving him up._ He made himself comfortable on his back, knees raised and parted, the anticipation of having Cas between them causing them to tremble slightly.

“On your knees.”

Dean blinked. He looked over at Cas, sure that he had misheard somehow. The stare that he received informed him that he had not in fact misheard. Somewhat confused, but interested all the same, Dean changed positions, rolling over and rising up onto his knees. He was game to try anything once, but he couldn’t help feeling some apprehension. Up until now they had always had sex facing one another, which he suspected had something to do with the way they both loved to watch the other one fall apart. He wouldn’t be able to see Cas positioned like this, and he wondered at his reasoning for requesting this of him.

Then Castiel pressed his lips to the back of Dean’s neck and all the doubts melted away. He hadn’t even heard him move or undress, and yet there he was behind him on the bed, all warm skin and muscles humming with strength as he pulled Dean close, chest pressed against his back. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, his voice low in Dean’s ear. “I believe I sensed some concern from you a moment ago.”

Dean swallowed. “I’m good.” _Damn, am I that transparent?_ “You’ve just never wanted me this way, so I was wondering if maybe… If you’re still upset with me about what happened—”

“Dean.”

There was such quiet, yet firm insistence in Castiel’s tone that Dean immediately stopped talking. 

“I am not upset with you. I was never upset with you. I have always strived to respect your choices, even when I may strongly disagree with them. This was simply another instance of such,” Castiel explained. “I am pleased that you chose to allow me to remain in your life in this capacity, however should you someday change your mind, I want you to know that I will bear you no ill will.”

Dean felt Cas’ hand settle on his shoulder and covered it with his own, feeling a deep sense of relief. “I’m never changing my mind,” he assured him. He was now glad that they weren’t facing one another as he didn’t think he’d be able to keep from saying something downright sappy if he were looking into Cas’ eyes. He squeezed his hand, trying to convey without words some measure of what he was feeling right now.

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand in return. “I am pleased to hear that.” He let his hand slide, just barely resting above the edges of the handprint on Dean’s shoulder. “For the record Dean, I have wanted you this way. In every conceivable way, for that matter.”

Dean felt the hardness pressed against his cheeks and his mouth went dry. _Well then._ Now that he knew Cas wasn’t upset with him, he was down for whatever his angel had in mind.

 _Or so I thought,_ Dean realized when nearly an hour had gone by and Cas still hadn’t started fucking him. He remained on all fours, although he had long since slumped forward on the bed, the weight of his upper body supported by his elbows. His lower body was still pressed tightly back against Cas, one hand holding onto his hip, while the other alternated between teasing his nipples and brushing across his shoulder brand, either action causing Dean to groan and squirm within Cas’ unbreakable grasp.

Dean just couldn’t comprehend the level of self-control. He knew Cas was dying to be inside him, he could feel his cock throbbing from where it rested between his cheeks, slick with precum. Dean had already had one orgasm simply from having Cas kiss his way down the back of his spine with slow deliberation, stopping just at his tailbone. Dean would’ve been embarrassed if it hadn’t felt so damn good, finally getting some relief from the tension that had been building in him ever since he and Cas had settled their differences. 

Still, he needed more, he demanded it. Not wanting to wait any longer, Dean had reached back for Cas, taking hold of his hardness, fully intent on penetrating himself. Castiel brushed his hand away for what seemed like the umpteenth time and Dean groaned in frustration.

“I am sensing some impatience. Dean, is there someplace that you need to be?”

Dean could hear the humor in Cas’ voice mingling with the lust, and it was one hell of an aphrodisiac. He was already aching again. “Come on,” he groaned, his resolve starting to crumble. He had sworn he would go along with whatever Cas had planned for him, but he had been hoping that he planned to be inside him sooner rather than later. “Cas, you usually have me halfway to passed out by now. Are you trying to make me lose my mind?”

Castiel chuckled against the back of Dean’s neck. 

Dean sucked in a breath as Cas began to rut against him, sliding back and forth, teasing his nerve endings.

“When I thought that things between us had come to an end,” Castiel began. “Part of me, the part that values your respect and admiration above all else in this world, wanted nothing more than to remain by your side, as your friend, and take comfort in having known you intimately for even a small time.”

Dean took hold of Cas’ fingers again and squeezed, not trusting himself to speak. 

“However,” Cas continued, his voice lowering. “The part of me that craves the taste of your skin,” he breathed, mouthing along the side of Dean’s neck. “The way that you feel in my arms—”

Dean sucked in a breath as Cas’ arms tightened around him.

“The sounds that you make when I touch you like this—”

“Oh fuck,” Dean groaned as Castiel’s hand landed directly on his brand for the briefest of moments before pulling away. It wasn’t an orgasm, not quite, but it pulled him apart nonetheless, his thighs trembling and his body shaking as he struggled to catch his breath.

“That part of me,” Castiel continued. “Wanted nothing more than to have one last time with you, and if it was to be our last, I would take full advantage of every single second.” He nuzzled the back of Dean’s neck, enjoying the residual tremors that coursed through him. “I would…” He continued to grind against Dean, watching the way he arched back against him, urging him on. “…Make. It. Count.” Sensing he was on the brink again, Castiel stilled his movements giving Dean time to cool down, chuckling at the litany of curses he muttered under his breath.

Dean heard the sound of a bottle snap open and damn near started shouting. Cas had been teasing the ever-loving hell out of him so long he’d forgotten that not once had he actually started preparing him. “Goddammit,” he groaned, burying his face in his forearms.

“Do you no longer wish to continue?”

Dean whipped around to glare at Cas. “Cas, I swear on my life, if you even think about stopping, I will...” His words dissolved into a breathy sigh at the sensation of lube-slicked fingers slipping inside of him.

Castiel stroked the bundle of nerves, enjoying the trembles that coursed through Dean at each pass of his fingertips. “You will what?”

“…What?” Dean breathed, his face back down on his forearms as he shamelessly rocked back on Cas’ fingers. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been saying or why Cas expected him to be able to carry on a conversation when he was doing these things to him. He made a protesting sound when he felt the fingers withdraw, only to moan when they returned, even slicker and this time coupled with an additional hand wrapped around his shaft, just barely gliding back and forth.

Castiel continued to work Dean open, the movement of his hips as he ground himself against his hand helping to speed up the process. He kept his grip light, not giving him enough friction to come, but just enough to keep him on the edge, toes curling into the sheets and skin dampening with sweat. Dean’s muscles flexed with every movement, eyes closed and lost in sensation as he bit down on the flesh of his forearm, arching back for him so beautifully. Castiel had reached heights and seen sights that humans could only dream of, but this was a truly spectacular view.

“Cas,” Dean breathed against his arm, already bruised from his own teeth. “Please.”

Castiel shuddered, wings and all. There was something about hearing Dean say that word. It cut to the core of him, stoking his hunger in a manner that defied comprehension. As a rule he could deny Dean nothing when he asked, but when he begged…

Dean felt Cas’ fingers withdraw again and braced himself, arching his hips for it. Cas didn’t disappoint, sliding into him in one smooth stroke, hand still wrapped around his shaft, the friction increased just enough to be infuriatingly noticeable. Still, he ground himself against Cas’ hand just as he rocked back against his cock, seeking out sweet release.

Castiel rolled his hips against Dean, watching the way his body responded. Every tremor, every gasp, every clench. It was all so incredible to behold, but he found that he missed seeing him. Seeing into him as he gave himself over to the pleasure that ruled them both. Castiel stilled his movements, inwardly pleased at the near growl of disapproval he earned from Dean. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Dean nearly had a fit. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind,” he meant to shout, but it came out just slightly above a whisper. All of this teasing was starting to take its toll. He was shaking now, on the brink of completely losing it. Matters weren’t helped when Cas leaned down and bit him on the top of one shoulder, chest warm against his back. Dean wanted to curse, but he couldn’t find the breath.

“I want to see you,” Castiel said, his voice low in Dean’s ear. “On your back.” He moved off of Dean, giving him space to maneuver.

Dean only felt the briefest spike of annoyance at being ordered around, but the tingle coursing through him from the tone of Cas’ voice won out. He rolled over, returning to the position he’d first taken. “Not going to change your mind again?” he mumbled, watching as Castiel took his place between his thighs. “Tell me to stand on my head?”

“Can you do that?” Castiel asked, instantly intrigued. “Dean, I had no idea that you were capable of such feats of athleticism. You must demonstrate this skill for me at once.”

Dean would’ve been even more annoyed if it weren’t for the way the head of Cas’ cock felt, pressed against his entrance. Growing increasingly impatient, he tried to angle his hips up to get it inside of him, but realized that Cas was easily preventing him from moving with one well-placed hand. _Oh come on!_ He looked Cas in the eyes and forgot everything he intended to say.

Castiel stared back at Dean, admiring this new and improved view. Now he could see him, _really see him_ , and his emotions, in addition to the responses of his body. This was what he truly preferred.

Dean realized Cas had been right. Being face to face was better. As Cas gazed down at him with softly glowing eyes, Dean felt something click into place. It all made sense now. Being with Cas made him feel like he was the center of the universe, and he knew that no matter where he was or what he was doing, he would never be able to get Cas out of his mind again.

Dean swallowed. _In that case, might as well say it._ “Cas…”

Castiel waited, sensing that Dean was working through something that he’d been struggling with for quite some time now.

Dean hesitated. _Just say it._ “Cas, I…” 

It was no use, the words tangled up in his mind before they could even make it to his mouth. He couldn’t say it. It was bad enough that he knew it, felt it in his soul. Saying it would be like begging the universe to take it away. He was already on borrowed time, for all he knew. Lord knows he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve Cas. To say it out loud would be to open himself up to the mother of all comedowns. It was beyond foolish to risk it, and he was done being a fool when it came to Cas, of that he was certain.

Castiel was no stranger to self-doubt and he could tell where Dean’s mind was headed. He was not so vain as to need to hear it said aloud, the words Dean feared to speak. He knew enough from watching him, from listening to the things he did say, and from the way he looked back at him with that combination of awe and admiration. He knew how Dean felt, because he had already felt the same way for many years.

Dean let out a low moan as Cas slid into him, thighs trembling. _He knows,_ he realized, one of the last rational thoughts his mind could form before it was overwhelmed by Cas’ attentions. 

Castiel savored the feel of Dean beneath him, moving against him with a maddeningly slow pace. He had meant what he said about making it count, and he had no intentions of giving Dean anything less than the entirety of the night. He caressed his hands up and down every inch of skin within reach, committing it all to memory again as his lips moved against Dean's, muffling his quiet moans.

Dean writhed beneath Cas, both loving the thorough exploration of his body and frustrated by the slow tempo. Cas wasn’t giving him enough friction to come yet, instead just working him up more and more, his aching erection only receiving the occasional stroke of Cas’ hand or press of his stomach. He tried to grind up against Cas, but the angel easily held him in place. A brush of thumb against his shoulder brand was enough to make him arch back into the sweat-damped sheets, but Cas withdrew short of granting him full release.

Castiel was determined to keep Dean on edge for as long as he was physically able. Whenever he felt the telltale signs of nearing release, he eased his rhythm, slowing down even further to give his senses a chance to recover. Each time he did this Dean would clench his fists into the sheets and let out an increasingly inarticulate sound of disapproval, squeezing down around him as if to spur greater momentum. Castiel found that he enjoyed it even more than his usual method of overwhelming Dean with sheer strength and speed.

Dean couldn’t help but to respond to Cas’ unrelenting control of his body. He snatched bursts of pleasure when he could, his eyes closing when Cas hit his prostate the way that he liked. He nearly came when Cas’ lips parted from his own and moved south to settle on that sweet spot just between his neck and shoulder, sending tingles all throughout his tensed body. But Cas pulled back at the last second, drawing a low whine of desperation from Dean. And since he didn’t have the strength to roll Cas over and take matters into his own hands, he could only voice his frustrations and hope that soon Cas would take mercy on him and finish him off before he completely lost his mind.

It became more and more difficult for Castiel to hold back the longer he teased Dean. Eventually his sounds became a little too pleasing, the insistent way that he tried to pin him in with his thighs causing him to inadvertently tighten around him, and finally his hands finding their way to his upper back, fingers digging into that place where his wings met his flesh.

Dean knew from the way that Cas’ fingers gripped onto his thigh that he was at long last nearing the end of his torment. He breathed a chorus of low moans, head thrown back against the pillows as Cas finally gave in, hips slamming into him in deliberate strokes, each one direct on target, firing up all of the nerve endings inside of him so strongly he couldn’t breathe, his cock aching past the point of pleasure so much that it almost verged upon painful.

Castiel pressed his palm to Dean’s shoulder just as he brought their mouths together, caressing Dean’s tongue with his own as he shuddered beneath him, stomachs growing slick from his well-deserved release.

Dean savored the taste of Cas’ lips as he came, his body trembling with relief. He didn’t break the kiss or relinquish his hold on Cas’ back until he felt the answering shudder and rush of heat that let him know that the enjoyment had been mutual. Only then did Dean pull back with a gasp, his hands falling limply to the sheets. “Goddamnnn…” he whispered, still struggling to breathe.

Castiel found that he shared Dean’s sentiments. He carefully moved off of Dean and settled beside him, slowly enfolding him in his arms, equally exhausted from the strain of using so much self-control. He gently thumbed Dean’s brand as they both came down from their highs, breathing evening out and legs twining together.

It was hot, far too hot, but Dean didn’t mind. After a little time apart, he found he could handle it. He shifted against Cas, getting comfortable, his limbs already growing heavy with the promise of sleep.

Castiel settled his face against Dean’s neck. They were both covered in sweat, but he didn’t bother using his grace to clean it off. It could wait until morning, because that’s what showers were for.

Dean felt Cas’ breath against his skin and arms around his body and felt such contentment as he had never known. And since he couldn’t say the words, he thought them, channeling them with all the energy left to his sleep-craving mind. The feel of Cas’ palm as it squeezed lightly upon his shoulder while he drifted off to sleep, let him know that the message had been received, loud and clear.

 

Sam could hear Castiel and Dean talking as he walked down the hall, having just returned from his run. He was honestly a bit surprised that his brother was up and about at this hour given his reunion with Cas, but stranger things had happened. “Hey,” he said as he walked into the kitchen, preemptively shielding his eyes with one hand in case they were doing something inappropriate. 

“Grow up Sam,” Dean said, putting grounds into the coffee machine. “We’re in the kitchen for crying out loud. What do you think you’re going to see?”

“Good morning Sam,” Castiel said, rising from his seat at the table.

“Morning Cas,” Sam replied. He headed over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of green juice. “So what’s going on?”

“I was just on my to Heaven,” Castiel explained. “Dean and I were settling the last of our grievances in order to prevent future disagreements.”

“Can’t always prevent that,” Dean reminded him. “But I think we’re on the right track.”

“As do I,” Castiel agreed. “I will see you upon my return, unless you go on a hunt, in which case—”

“You know how to find me,” Dean finished, meeting Cas’ gaze. “See you soon.”

Castiel nodded. With an additional nod to Sam, he turned and left the kitchen.

“Cas,” Dean called. He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Castiel cast an apologetic glance at Sam and walked back into the kitchen. He strode over to Dean and pulled him in for a kiss.

Sam politely averted his eyes until he heard Cas take a step back.

“Alright,” Dean said. “Have fun. Tell your pals I said hey.”

Castiel gave a lighthearted eyeroll and turned, leaving the kitchen again.

Dean watched him go, his mood better than he could recall in quite some time. 

“I see you two are good again,” Sam remarked, taking a swig of green juice.

“We are better than good,” Dean confirmed. “We’re friggin fantastic.” He leaned back against the counter. “I don’t want to jinx it, but we agreed that we’re not going to interfere in each other’s work unless specifically asked or it’s a legit emergency.” 

“Sounds fair,” Sam agreed.

Dean gave his brother a look. “Real nice of you yesterday not to tell me that Cas was waiting for me in my room, by the way.”

Sam snickered. “He showed up like five minutes after you snuck out of the bunker to go to the bar. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I figured it was better to let you work it out on your own.”

“I guess,” Dean agreed. “Well that was basically a wasted trip. I should’ve just stayed put in the first place.”

They both turned as Castiel walked back into the kitchen, a large cellophane-wrapped item in hand.

“Now Cas, it’s one goodbye kiss per customer,” Dean said. “Don’t be greedy.”

Castiel gave Dean a wry look and lifted the item he was holding. “I found this outside. It’s addressed to you.” He set the massive gift basket of fruit onto the table.

Sam’s eyebrows raised. “Who the hell sent you a fruit basket?”

Dean blanched, remembering his conversation with Crowley. Before his brother could too closely inspect the item, he quickly stepped forward and snatched the card.

Sam watched as Dean tore it in pieces and tossed it into the trash without even bothering to read it. “Do I even want to know?”

“It’s from Crowley,” Castiel announced, giving Dean a sideways glance. “It said, ‘Squirrel, please allow me to briefly supplement your malnourished fast food diet with some fresh fruit, as per our last conversation.’”

Dean shrugged. _That’s not so bad._

“‘P.S.,’” Castiel continued, still eying Dean strangely. “‘Congratulations once again on all the hot angel sex.’”

Sam spat out his juice.

“‘If you would please, at the earliest possible opportunity, select the banana which most closely mirrors that of your beloved, take a picture, and send it to me so that my curiosity might be appeased—’”

“Alright,” Dean cut in, his face nearly as red as the apples in Crowley’s basket. “That’s enough.” He could hear Sam half-choking, half-laughing behind him. “Can’t believe you read my card,” he said, mortified beyond his wildest imaginings. “Can’t a guy have any privacy?”

“I can’t believe you told Crowley that you and I were intimate,” Castiel replied, brows raised. “Is that not one of the reasons you banished me from assisting on your hunts?”

Dean started to protest, when he noticed the smirk on Cas’ face. “Oh shut up and get lost.”

Castiel chuckled and left the kitchen again.

“Wow,” Sam said, impressed. “You two really are good.”

“Told you,” Dean said, feeling deeply smug even after the surprise delivery. He pulled the ribbon off the basket and unwrapped the cellophane to inspect the variety of fruit. After a moment’s careful deliberation he selected a banana and set it down on the table directly in front of Sam.

Sam stared in confusion for a moment before it clicked into place. “Oh my God, Dean! Stop!”

Dean cackled and picked up an apple for himself. Things were indeed back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed! Much appreciated!


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